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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600896">Rescue Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyInferno/pseuds/TrashyInferno'>TrashyInferno</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kidnapping, No Spoilers, Oscar Pine Needs a Hug, Rescue Missions, What Have I Done</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:47:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600896</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashyInferno/pseuds/TrashyInferno</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Just beyond the front lines, three huntsman begin their incursion into the belly of the beast. Their mission? Rescue Oscar before Ironwood blows him and everyone inside to smithereens without getting caught by the wicked witch or her lackeys. No way that'll go wrong. Nope.</p><p>Meanwhile, Emerald Sustrai has a choice to make, Hazel Rainart has doubts, and Oscar Pine just wants this nightmare to end. Preferably before it ends him.</p><p>spoiler free for non-first viewers</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaune Arc &amp; Lie Ren &amp; Yang Xiao Long, Jaune Arc &amp; Oscar Pine, Oscar Pine &amp; Lie Ren, Oscar Pine &amp; Yang Xiao Long, Ozpin &amp; Oscar Pine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>202</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. JRY/Follow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>SO MY COMPUTER CRASHED AND I LOST EVERYTHING I WAS WORKING ON *gross sobbing ensues*</p><p>And then Ch. 7 came out and I had Ideas (yes, I do mean Ideas) so I started writing my feelings away. Yay! Good news is, I have about six chapters of this written so far, so I have a buffer. Also yay.</p><p>So, please enjoy my headcanons of how this whole rescue thing is going to go down (before canon smashes them into little bits). :)</p><p>EDIT: My sister (lovely human) made a playlist for this fic!!! </p><p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4q6YuAsiGkDbxs59TYJWSG?si=gZQtdoOHTFGyCReeWKpF0A</p><p>The song for this chapter is Weightless by Natasha Bedingfield</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If the Grimm looked massive from the airship, it looks <em>enormous </em>from up close. Jaune’s mouth goes dry as it roars, another deluge of black muck cascading from its mouth like a tidal wave.</p><p>Winter had kept her word and gotten them as close as they dared – the rescue squad had ended up on a relatively calm patch of land about three hundred yards to the right of the monster’s mouth. They’d made quick work of the surrounding Grimm and run for cover in one of the fields. Not for the first time, Jaune finds himself thanking the Brothers for Ren and his semblance.</p><p>“So, how do we get in?” Yang asks. She peeks over the grains and grimaces. “We can’t just walk in through the mouth, can we?”</p><p>Ren shakes his head. “It only opens its mouth to release more Grimm. There’s no way we can get in without getting caught in the wave.” His closed eyes squeeze even more tightly. “We need to move soon. I can’t keep this up for very long.”</p><p>Jaune blinks. “Your semblance,” he says, remembering the incident with the Ace Ops. That’s something they’ll have to talk about later. “Right. Okay.”</p><p>He closes his eyes and tries to bring up an image of the Grimm in his mind. Salem has to have a second entrance – there’s no way her lieutenants would have launched airships from the mouth of a Grimm. It’s too unstable.</p><p>So, there’s a landing bay somewhere. Probably along the sides. Possibly the back?</p><p>“Jaune?” Yang says with a hint of worry.</p><p>He waves her off with an arm. “I’m thinking, hang on.”</p><p>But the landing bay is most likely on an area of the Grimm that isn’t on land precisely so that they can’t just waltz their way in, not to mention any security. No, they need an entrance no one would expect.</p><p>
  <em>Come on, come on…</em>
</p><p>He recalls the memory of flying above the massive Grimm. There has to be <em>something.</em></p><p>Then he remembers the hole. It isn’t very large, and he wouldn’t have seen it if they hadn’t gotten a bird’s eye view of it, but it’s there.</p><p>And it might just fit a person.</p><p>He grins. “I think I have an idea, but it’s a little crazy,” he announces.</p><p>Yang and Ren glance at him with a mixture of curiosity and dread.</p><p>“Let’s go climb a Grimm.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yang stares up at the giant Grimm and lets the smile threatening to creep across her face burst into being. She punches her fists together. “I <em>like </em>this plan,” she announces.</p><p>“Good, good,” Jaune replies distractedly. “Ren, if you would?”</p><p>Ren nods. There’s a soft <em>chk</em> as he releases a grappling hook from one of his weapons. He offers the hook and a blade to her and raises an eyebrow.</p><p>“It’s <em>cool</em> plan,” she adds, snatching them from his hand. She checks the intact blade over and does her best to familiarize herself with the trigger that will release the other hook. She nods in approval and glances at Jaune. “Ready?”</p><p>He frowns and squints up at the monster. With the flick of a wrist, <em>Crocea Mors</em> extends fully. “Whenever you are,” he replies. “We’ve probably got one shot at this before the Grimm catch on and attack. Make it count.” He drops into a crouch and holds the shield above his head.</p><p>Make it count. Hmph. She’s almost offended. “Right,” she says with a smirk, “not a problem.” She sets herself into a ready position and activates <em>Ember Celica</em>. “Here we go!”</p><p>Yang practically explodes from her position and leaps onto the shield. She lands in a crouch to conserve her momentum and grins as <em>Crocea Mors</em> hums beneath her feet. She pushes out with her legs and feels the gravity dust angrily push against her feet. Between the gravity dust, her momentum, and a little help from <em>Ember Celica</em>, she’s launched into the air at a dizzying speed.</p><p>For a moment, Yang allows herself to forget the crazy – no Ace Ops, no Grimm, no <em>Salem</em> – and revels in the feeling of flight. She hasn’t been able to do this in <em>ages</em>. While she wouldn’t give up being a huntress for the world, she misses the simple things.</p><p>And the slightly crazy things.</p><p>Her eyes snap open as the grappling line becomes taught. With a loud <em>hah</em> she jams the hook into the monster’s thick hide. In one smooth motion, she brings the other blade up to her hand and releases the other hook.</p><p>“Here goes nothing,” she mutters to herself. She angles her wrists downward and fires another round. The resulting shockwave propels her further up the side of the monster, and in a matter of second, she’s eye level with its back. She jabs the second and final hook into its skin, angles her wrists behind her, and propels herself on top of the Grimm. She lands with a somersault and crows in delight. “Told them I could do it!”</p><p>She turns and peeks over the edge. Ren and Jaune look like tiny toy soldiers from this height. She waves down at them and grins widely as they prepare for step two. Tiny Jaune approaches the end of the line and tugs on it once, twice, before hopping onto it and bracing his legs against the sides. She smirks as he makes the climb. She got up the fun way.</p><p>As fun as watching Jaune struggle his way up the monster might be, Yang has another job to do. She turns away from her team – she trusts them to get this done – and scans the top of the Grimm for enemies. They’re lucky. Most of the Grimm are on the ground or in the sky, and even then, they’re too preoccupied with the Atlas air ships to take notice of a lone huntress.</p><p>She takes advantage of the lack of attention and creeps toward the front of the Grimm, where Jaune had said the hole would be. If he’s right – which, she’d honestly be surprised if he weren’t. Jaune doesn’t act on hunches – it should be just large enough to fit one or two people. She moves just quickly enough so as not to be a stationary target, but slow enough not to attract too much unwanted attention. Soon, she’s standing at the edge of an indent in the whale that’s about a yard in diameter.</p><p>But it isn’t a hole.</p><p>She swallows the bitter disappointment that threatens to escape her mouth in a scream and shakes her head. They don’t have <em>time </em>to be wrong. Who knows how much time they’ve wasted with this stupid plan?</p><p>She turns to leave, but a rumbling beneath her feet stops her in her tracks. She plants her feet and braces herself as the Grimm’s front lifts off the ground and slams back into the dirt. <em>It must have released another wave of Grimm, </em>she thinks bitterly. She sighs and turns back to the indent, intending to get a closer look at the Grimm’s mouth. Maybe they can still get in through there if they swing into it.</p><p>She blinks. Then she blinks again.</p><p>Where the indent had once been lies a gaping hole.</p><p>She stares at it in disbelief. Where had this thing been just a moment ago? Never mind that, when would it disappear again? She approaches it cautiously and peeks over the edge. From this angle, she can see what looks to be a corridor running beneath the hole. She can’t see any obvious Grimm guarding the area, but she knows from experience that she shouldn’t trust everything she sees.</p><p>A man with grey eyes and prosthetic legs taught her that lesson.</p><p>The wild part of her wants to leap in there and do some exploring, but the team player squashes the idea. She can’t do this alone.</p><p>Yang climbs to her feet and creeps back towards the grappling hook to wait.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaune grimaces as the monster’s movements send him swinging like a pendulum. He grips the line tightly and pulls his legs up to his chest, using them to brace himself.</p><p>
  <em>Come on. Do it for Oscar.</em>
</p><p>The line finally stills, and Jaune continues the treacherous climb up the side of the Grimm. So far, he’s managed to climb past the first of the two lines and is half-way up the second. At the rate he’s going, it should be another three or so minutes. Then, Ren can use the grappling hooks to make his way up to the top.</p><p>Hopefully, Yang has found their entrance by this point. That should save them a considerable amount of time. His legs and arms burn ferociously under the strain of climbing for this long, but he steels himself and keeps climbing.</p><p>
  <em>For Oscar.</em>
</p><p>His mind goes back to the shuttle and the Ace Ops. <strong><em>We will do whatever it takes to find him, because we </em>care <em>about him.</em> </strong>Ren couldn’t have been more right in that regard, and he can’t help the guilt that settles in the pit of his stomach.</p><p>
  <em>Look at what our care has done for him so far.</em>
</p><p>He grits his teeth. <em>No, bad Jaune</em>. He doesn’t get to feel sorry for himself right now because he has a job to do. The thought spurs him into renewed action, and he finds himself climbing more quickly than before. The second hook quickly grows in his vision; it isn’t long before he’s gripping it firmly in his hand and pulling himself up onto the Grimm’s back. A hand grips his open one and yanks him onto solid ground.</p><p>Jaune yelps at the sudden movement.</p><p>“You took your time,” Yang teases lightly from next to him. “Thought you’d get here a little faster.”</p><p>He groans and rubs at his sore arm. “Sorry,” he answers with little bite and a wry grin, “not all of us have a death wish.”</p><p>She laughs and whacks him on the shoulder. “You’ll get there.” Her face quickly turns serious. “I found your hole, but I’m not sure how long it’ll be there,” she says, biting her lip. “It’s like a flap, sort of. Sometimes it’s open, and sometimes it isn’t.”</p><p>He groans. Great. Just what they needed. He climbs to his feet and rubs at his hands. “Were you able to figure out when it opens and closes?” he asks.</p><p>Yang shrugs. “I didn’t stay long enough to see it close again, but I think it opens every time the Grimm spits up a new wave,” she explains.</p><p>He quickly does the math in his head. “That happens every ten minutes or so,” he says. “It’s been, what, three minutes since the last one? Assuming the flap is closed right now, we should have seven minutes before it opens again.”</p><p>There’s a soft whirring noise, and Ren soars above their heads. He lands gracefully on his feet facing them.</p><p>“And that’s all of us,” Yang says with a grin. “Follow me.”</p><p>Jaune motions to Ren to follow, and the rescue team begins the trek across the surface of the Grimm.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ren isn’t sure what’s happening, but Yang and Jaune seem confident enough, so he doesn’t ask any questions. If there was a problem, they would have informed him already.</p><p>Instead, he attempts to activate his semblance. Usually, it’s a matter of reaching deep inside for his inner calm and letting it exude outward, but that inner calm seems to elude him. It’s there – he can <em>feel </em>it – but every time he reaches out, it dances tantalizingly at his fingertips.</p><p>The other, more <em>chaotic</em>, side of himself fills the void. His vision flickers grey, and the flower petals appear once more. Yang’s whirl around her in a sea of yellow and sea-green – <em>excitement, determination,</em> his mind whispers – while Jaune’s, floating softly in an unknown wind, present sea-green and pink. <em>Determination. Love. </em></p><p>The burning thrill of adventure and the rocksteady love for a friend.</p><p>He deactivates his semblance and sighs. Not for the first time, he finds himself longing for Nora. He’s always been able to be the calm in her storm, and her chaos has always been his anchor. He remembers what Professor Goodwitch had told him what feels like forever ago: <strong><em>That girl may be too much for you, but you must carry on.</em> </strong>He smiles softly. She’s never been too much for him. Never.</p><p>She’d probably be bouncing off the walls if she were here, battering him with question after question about his new abilities.</p><p>
  <em>Can you read minds? What do my emotions look like? What am I feeling right now?</em>
</p><p>He’s so caught up in Nora that he walks right into Jaune’s arm. He blinks. There’s a large indent in the Grimm directly in front of him. He glances at Jaune, who shakes his head.</p><p>Okay then. This is probably their hole.</p><p>“Three minutes,” Yang says, scroll in hand. “Then we’ll have our entrance.”</p><p>Jaune’s mouth curves into a thoughtful frown. “And you said you didn’t see any Grimm?” he asks.</p><p>“Nope,” Yang replies with a grin. “There was a corridor, but no Grimm in sight. Salem probably isn’t expecting someone to try coming through the top.”</p><p>Ren peers at the indent. It’s large and will probably fit all three of them easily. He glances at Yang and Jaune. “A hole like this, especially if it were closed, would have been easy to miss,” he remarks. “We’re lucky you were able to see it from the airship.”</p><p>Jaune rubs the back of his head and chuckles. “I almost forgot about it,” he admits with a small smile.</p><p>Yang punches him lightly on the shoulder. “Whatever,” she says, “you saw what no one else did. That counts as a win in my book.” Her scroll beeps in her hand. “Heads up,” she announces, smile gone, “one minute.”</p><p>Ren turns his attention back to the indent and braces himself. It’s been a while since the last wave of Grimm. He wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what opens the hole.</p><p>Sure enough, the giant Grimm startles beneath his feet. He plants his feet and practically wills himself to stay upright. Maybe it’s because he’s on top of it rather than on its side, but the movement seems to be much greater than the first few times the monster had spewed its black deluge. He glances over at Yang and Jaune, who seem to be having similar trouble.</p><p>It isn’t just him. The Grimm really <em>is </em>spewing more black goo than before.</p><p>The skin beneath the indent slowly slides beneath its edge to reveal a large hole.</p><p>Jaune looks back and forth between the two of them. “Are you ready?” he asks. There’s a certain steel in his voice that washes over Ren, and he can feel confidence echo in his bones.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>You cheated your way into Beacon!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>A pang of regret constricts his heart. Jaune may have cheated to get into Beacon, but he’s gotten them here through his own merits. He shakes the feeling away and nods silently.</p><p>He can’t take the words back. He knows that.</p><p>But, as he leaps after his leader into the unknown, he knows he doesn’t have to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have been informed that I must explain the hole and why I used it.</p><p>Well, for one thing, I really liked the idea of Yang basically performing the equivalent of shooting herself out of a cannon. So that was a factor. But, I dunno, giant whale... giant blowhole? It's a little silly, I'll admit - no water, no need for a blowhole - but I feel like Salem could have just overlooked the blowhole because seriously, who thinks of the blowhole? So if she were just thinking whale, she could have actually made one without thinking.</p><p>Whale anatomy would actually have the blowhole sending them straight into the lungs, but this whale obviously isn't like other whales (seriously, where the heck are the poor thing's internal organs? Does it even have a brain? I NEED TO KNOW) so I'm just gonna... ignoreish whale anatomy. (Fun fact: the blowholes of larger whale species can grow large enough to fit two relatively fit people fairly easily. I don't encourage attempting to be the first ever whale-spelunker, though.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. HOE/Find</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one in which Oscar is done with all this, Emerald has a question, and Hazel... doesn't actually get a perspective.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Double post! Because why not?</p><p>Actually, I really wanted to get a chapter from this story's other group because it isn't just about team JRY, it's about the other three as well. Technically, this is a part one of two, but I had to break up what was originally the whole chapter because... well, 7500 words is a lot, okay? Way too long a chapter for me. 3-4000 is my limit.</p><p>Both teams' acronyms are the order they are for a reason (besides the endless farmboi puns :D). If you have a guess as to what the acronym stands for, shout it out in the comments! I'm curious to see if anyone can get them right before the end of this monstrosity.</p><p>EDIT: Playlist songs for this chapter: Starlight by The Wailin' Jennys and Dotted Lines by Sweet Talk Radio</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>We need to do another inventory.</em>
  
</p><p>“No,” he croaks. His throat burns from even the simple act of speaking, and Oscar is very much not wanting to assess the rest of his body.</p><p>
  <em>Oscar, I know you’re exhausted, but this is necessary. If there’s a rescue –</em>
</p><p>“I know, I know,” he interrupts, gasping as he breathes too deeply, “we need to be able to help however we can.” He rolls his eyes beneath his eyelids and marvels at how even <em>that</em> hurts. Every time they’ve been left to their own devices, Ozpin has insisted on doing one of his ‘inventories’ – a systematic check over every part of his body.</p><p>
  <em>And that includes determining if you can move under your own power.</em>
</p><p>At first, the checks had been a comfort. Mostly bruises, deep, but manageable. But as time and sessions with Hazel have gone on, he’s started dreading them. Bruises, something very uncomfortable that Ozpin insists is a couple of cracked or broken ribs, the cut in his cheek that constantly fills his mouth with blood…</p><p>Depressing doesn’t even begin to describe it.</p><p>A wet, ragged cough tears itself from his throat. “I think that’s a no, Oz.” He curls further into himself. He hasn’t moved since Hazel yanked him off the hook and dropped him none too gently on the floor. The backs of his eyelids are so nice to look at – he just wants to lay here and never move again.</p><p>
  <em>Toes.</em>
</p><p>He sighs as much as his ribs will allow. It seems as though Ozpin isn’t letting him out of this one. He wiggles his toes. They move sluggishly; they’ve had a strange weight to them for a while, now.</p><p>“Moving,” he mutters.</p><p>
  <em>Good. Feet?</em>
</p><p>“Fuzzy, but okay.”</p><p>
  <em>Likely from your blood pooling in them while we were hanging. They should be alright. Ankles?</em>
</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>They make their way up the body, occasionally pausing to discuss some injury or another. Nothing particularly alarms Ozpin until they get to his wrists and hands. Oscar strains to flex his wrists within the bindings Hazel hadn’t bothered to remove before he left, but the muscles barely even twitch despite his efforts.</p><p>“At least they aren’t broken,” he says wryly. “I’d feel it.” Actually, he can’t feel <em>anything </em>from his wrists up to his fingers. A minor blessing, he supposes, he was sure the skin beneath the coarse fabric would be rubbed raw by now.</p><p>Ozpin’s displeasure and something – is that <em>worry</em>? – presses against his consciousness. <em>Oscar, move your fingers</em>, he orders.</p><p>Oscar blinks. He hasn’t heard Ozpin sound like this since the incident with Jinn. He slowly pulls his hands up to his face. He can hear them scrape along the floor as he drags them further upward, but he doesn’t feel even slight pressure. He finally catches sight of his hands.</p><p><em>I asked you to move your fingers,</em> Ozpin presses. Oscar notes the cool control lacing the professor’s voice and frowns. His voice and his emotions – <em>barely concealed panic, worry</em> – don’t match. <em>Oscar.</em></p><p>“I <em>am </em>moving them,” he grumbles through gritted teeth. He can feel his face flush as a frustrated growl rises in his throat. Despite his words, his fingers are decidedly <em>not </em>moving. They rest, loosely curled inward against each other.</p><p>
  <em>You need to get the ties and your gloves off of your hands.</em>
</p><p>The ties he gets. They don’t necessarily hurt, but he’s not a fan of making it easier for Hazel to string him up again when he returns. But the <em>gloves</em>? Oz knows he’s touchy about his scars trapped beneath the fabric. Why would he –</p><p><em>We were hanging from our wrists for almost an hour, </em>Ozpin explains impatiently.<em> If we want to keep our hands, it’s imperative that you free them.</em></p><p>“Isn’t that a little dramatic?” Oscar mutters. Sure, he can’t <em>feel</em> them, but –</p><p>
  <em>Oscar, wrists weren’t designed for holding the entirety of a person’s body-weight. Even fifteen minutes in that position is enough to cause permanent nerve damage.</em>
</p><p>That… He swallows thickly. That <em>is </em>pretty bad.</p><p>
  <em>We need to relieve any pressure on your wrists and hands. The gloves and the bindings must come off. Would you prefer if I take over for a little while?</em>
</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” he says with more force than he intends. He lets out a shallow breath. “No, I can do this.” He’s had enough of losing control. His body, his mind, his freedom… He <em>has </em>to do this for himself.</p><p>Even the effort of sitting up feels herculean. His arms and hands aren’t responding to his commands; the muscles in his abdomen feel like they’re on fire. A pained cry tears from his throat, and he has to stop, panting shallowly, once he manages to get himself upright. His torso curls over his legs. The white-hot pain in his chest keeps him from sitting up straight.</p><p>He hasn’t been able to stand at his full height since Hazel’s second punch. His ribs make sure of that.</p><p><em>Halfway there, </em>Ozpin urges gently. <em>You just have to get to your feet, Oscar.</em></p><p>He groans. “Oz,” he says through labored breaths, “I don’t think I can do this.”</p><p><em>Don’t say that, </em>the man orders. <em>You can, and you will. Now, get </em>up<em>, Oscar Pine.</em></p><p>It takes torturously slow movements that set every part of his body on fire, but he manages to get to his feet. His arms hang in front of him like weights, and Oscar almost stumbles forward from the unexpected burden. He takes as deep a breath as he dares and closes his eyes, feeling himself steady.</p><p>He takes a moment to scan the room. There has to be something the right height. He grins when he spots a bone jutting from the floor across his cell that’s just tall enough for him to slip his arms over its tip without having to move his arms too much.</p><p>He huffs and lets his head drop. Of course, he has to get there, first.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>She <em>has </em>to get there first.</p><p>Emerald doesn’t know if Hazel will go straight to Salem with the password or if he’ll actually use it like the kid hopes, but she’s not going to let him do either of those things. That question is <em>hers</em>. She’ll use it, and then she’ll finally know if –</p><p>The familiar clicking of a Seer approaching from the left pulls her from her thoughts. Her semblance activates quickly, and her breath catches in her throat as the Grimm passes. She waits until it’s much further down the hall before she drops her illusion.</p><p>She is not supposed to be in this part of Monstra. Salem had made it clear not long after she’d gained possession of the lamp that only herself and her <em>trusted lieutenants </em>– Hazel, Tyrian, and Watts… and hadn’t <em>that </em>rankled Cinder – were allowed anywhere near it. That order quickly extended to just a bit further down the corridor when the Hound had arrived with the kid.</p><p>Emerald is putting a lot on the line, but it’s worth it.</p><p>She can see the familiar glow of a door sigil lighting the path and pauses, listening. She hadn’t seen Hazel leave the kid’s cell before she left to talk with Mercury. Is he still here? Or has he left to… She shakes her head and inches forward with light movements. Years of thievery have taught her to keep her movements deliberate and well-planned. One slip, one hasty decision, and she’ll be caught by one of those Seers or <em>worse</em>.</p><p>She shudders, thinking of the Hound’s rotten breath wafting into her nose as it sniffs at her clothes for hints of the Winter Maiden. Emerald has seen a great many things under Salem’s leadership that have shaken her, but the Hound is one that remains with her long after it left in its search for the Winter Maiden.</p><p>Emerald finally comes upon the door and presses her hand against it. She can hear a voice, the kid, muttering something to himself, but it sounds like he’s alone. Sort of. She’s still not sure she understands how the kid is <em>Ozpin</em> – old, silver haired, pale Ozpin – but it’s not her business to know those sorts of things.</p><p>She toys with the idea of opening the door, vanishing, and letting the kid wander around freely. An escape might give her the time to get the lamp without alerting its guards; it would also distract Hazel and give her the time to ask her question without his interference.</p><p>No. Kid’s been punished enough. Probably best to leave him.</p><p>Another door sigil glows dimly about fifty feet away, and Emerald feels her heart rate climb. She’s close, and if Hazel isn’t with the kid, he’s probably with the relic already. She frowns and feels apprehension pool in her stomach. She isn’t looking for a fight, especially not against Hazel, and the rational part of her says that she should turn tail and forget all about the relic and the kid and her quest for the <em>truth</em> because the only truth in this place is that everyone lies as much as they breathe.</p><p>She sighs heavily and activates her semblance. What did they say about curiosity? That it killed the cat? She frowns as she creeps along the corridor. Her curiosity is going to get her killed if Hazel is really in there already, she just knows it.</p><p>When she gets there, the door is closed, and the usual guards are nowhere to be found. Her brow furrows. That isn’t right at all. Of course, Salem could have sent them out into the battle, but she could simply create more Grimm to replace them, couldn’t she?</p><p>More likely, her logic supplies, Hazel sent them away.</p><p>Her eyes narrow. Well, that might complicate things. She takes a deep breath and activates the door. Like the rest of the doors, the solid red membrane melts into black tar and falls into the floor. She wrinkles her nose in disgust as the tar squelches into the floor. She’s grown to hate that sound since she’s been here, and the obscene amount of noise it makes could qualify as its own alarm.</p><p>If anyone is in this room, they most certainly know that they aren’t alone anymore.</p><p>Lucky for her, the room is empty save for a blood red pedestal in the center, the gleaming lamp floating at its top. A quick visual scan tells her that she’s truly alone here. No Hazel, no guards… She smirks. <em>Score.</em></p><p>Her thief training takes over as she makes her way to the center of the room. Step, pause, sweep for trap. Step, pause, sweep for trap. The cycle plays over and over again until she’s there, standing right in front of the lamp. It floats, tantalizing, and it takes every ounce of her self-control not to simply reach out and snatch it. <em>Check for traps</em>, <em>alarms…</em></p><p>There’s no way Salem would leave something this important unprotected, right?</p><p>She circles around the pedestal once, twice, but there’s nothing indicating a trap of some sort. She frowns. Okay, maybe she left the lamp unprotected.</p><p>Emerald slowly reaches out, only letting her arm extend centimeters at a time, but nothing happens. Her fingers finally rest against the relic’s surface – and <em>wow</em> is that an underwhelming experience. She’d expected some sort of fireworks or something with all Salem’s been crowing about it – and she gently wraps her fingers around the handle.</p><p>Her mouth curls into a gleeful smile as adrenaline floods her veins. She’s done it! Emerald pulls the lamp off of the pedestal and grips it in both hands. It glows brightly in her hands as if it recognizes her touch.</p><p>Now for the password.</p><p>“What do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>
  <em>Hazel.</em>
</p><p>Her heart plummets into her stomach. She turns quickly, hastily shoving the lamp behind her back and presenting him with a toothy smile. “Me? Nothing! I was just… lost,” she says smoothly. “Everything looks the same around here, and I managed to get a bit turned around when I was looking for Mercury’s room.”</p><p>Above her, Hazel crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with her explanation. “Do you even know the password?” he asks as he slowly climbs down the steps.</p><p>Emerald swallows the fear threatening to overtake her at the sight. Most rooms didn’t have these steps that lead up to the door, but she could see why Salem would do it here. Hazel’s physique is already intimidating. The addition of the stairs, which grant him further height, and his slow, hefty steps are downright <em>terrifying</em>.</p><p>She doesn’t reply, choosing to drop into a wider stance and tucking the lamp in the crook of her arm. Hazel’s eyes track the lamp almost single-mindedly. She can work with this.</p><p>Something must show in her expression because his body produces a rumbling sound of displeasure. “You know it.” His mouth turns down into a harsh scowl. “Did you talk to him when I wasn’t there?” he questions.</p><p>Emerald prays that he doesn’t see the tremor in her legs. “The walls are thinner than you think,” she replies, forcing disinterest into her voice. Her flight instincts tell her to back away and put the pedestal between herself and Hazel, but she buries it deep behind false bravado.</p><p>He approaches so that they’re only a foot apart. At this range, Emerald has to crane her head to keep eye contact. They stare at each other for a few moments in a battle of wills, Hazel’s ferocious scowl versus her own feigned boredom.</p><p>Finally, Hazel thrusts a hand in her direction, palm facing the ceiling. “Give me the relic, and I won’t tell Salem about this.”</p><p>Emerald keeps her face blank. “If I don’t give you the lamp,” she replies, “you <em>still </em>wouldn’t tell Salem.” She pulls the lamp closer to her chest. “Because then you’d have to tell <em>her</em> the password, and she’ll use the last question for herself.” A smirk that she <em>definitely </em>isn’t feeling breaks through the bored façade. “You won’t get your answers,” she finishes.</p><p>She’s bluffing. Oh, she is <em>very much </em>bluffing right now. The question is –</p><p>“What would you ask?”</p><p>The question stops her thoughts in her tracks. She can feel her smirk briefly slip from her face, but she wrestles it back into place.</p><p>It’s one thing to think of her question. Saying it out loud is an entirely different monster.</p><p>Hazel’s towering presence seems to grow impossibly larger. It looms over her much smaller form and her chest constricts tightly. “You’d ask if Cinder <em>cares </em>about you?” he asks, voice dangerously calm. She almost wishes he would yell if only to know exactly what he’s thinking. “I don’t need a genie in a lamp to tell you the answer to that.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes. “Yeah?” she retorts hotly. “What do <em>you </em>know about it?”</p><p>The rumbling sound returns; it echoes in her ears, in her <em>bones.</em> Her legs quiver beneath her. Her flight instincts resurface with a vengeance. She wants – no, she <em>needs</em> to run. Throw the lamp over her shoulder and run like hell. Steal an airship and get as far away from this hellhole as she possibly can. Maybe meet up with Merc along the way.</p><p>She needs to be anywhere but here.</p><p>“I know love and affection. I know what it looks like when people care for each other,” Hazel replies. Something sad flits across his features like he’s replaying a fond memory in his mind. “And what Cinder does – the way she treats you – that isn’t love.” His scowl loses a hint of its severity. “She doesn’t care about you the way that <em>you </em>care about her,” he finishes.</p><p>He gestures to the lamp with his outstretched hand, and Emerald, not for the first time, wishes she had run when she had the chance.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Getting his hands over the tip of the bone turns out to be the easier part of this process despite his shoulders’ lack of strength. No, the hard part is actually rubbing the bindings with enough pressure to actually cut them when he has very little function in his arms and absolutely no feeling in his wrists.</p><p>He leans over the bone, his bound wrists resting just beyond its jagged end. With a weighty groan, he snaps his hips forward and yanks his chest back. The bindings scrape along the point; they creak softly as the tip forces the threads taught. Shoulders burning, he strains against the tension and braces his foot against the bone to add more pressure, but the bindings don’t give as much as he’d like.</p><p>His wrists slip over the top of the bone, sending him sprawling for the fourth time onto his aching back. His ribs scream in protest at the sudden impact, and he finds himself staring up at the ceiling and gasping for air.</p><p><em>I believe you are close to tearing them, </em>Ozpin notes with approval. <em>Though I suggest you be more careful. You don’t want to jostle your injuries any further.</em></p><p>He closes his eyes and tries very hard not to snap at the passenger in his head. “Thank you,” he grouses between shallow gasps, “for stating the obvious.” He rolls onto his good side and clambers back to his feet. Using his hips and his torso for momentum, he throws his wrists back over the bone to make another attempt.</p><p>Which lands him back on the floor. <em>Great.</em></p><p>
  <em>Once more, Oscar, and then you can rest.</em>
</p><p>He grits his teeth as he sets himself up for another try. “Okay, commentary? Stops,” he mutters. He follows his procedure once again, pulling against the bindings with all the strength he can muster. There’s a harsh ripping sound, and he’s on the floor. He feels his arms flop over his head, wildly played in two very different directions.</p><p>Despite the agonizing fire racing throughout his body, he lets out a genuine crow of delight. He’s done it! He’s <em>actually</em> done it!</p><p><em>Congratulations,</em> Ozpin says. Oh, that is <em>definitely</em> pride in his voice. <em>Now you need to check your wrists.</em></p><p>Right. Moving.</p><p>The process of moving – of rolling over and getting into a loose crouch – takes so much energy that he almost falls face first onto the floor. Once he gets control of his arms, he’s never going to take them for granted ever again.</p><p>He uses a combination of his legs and his torso to launch himself back into a seated position, his arms flying up to land in his lap. He wriggles backward so that his back rests against the bone and stares down at his newly freed limbs.</p><p>The skin beneath his black wristbands is an angry red. Blood and pus seeps from large blisters, and he’s suddenly <em>very </em>glad he can’t feel anything despite what that may mean later.</p><p><em>We need to get those off. </em>Concern and urgency presses against his skull when he doesn’t move quickly enough. <em>Now, Oscar, </em>Ozpin urges.</p><p>Oscar blinks and releases the breath he’s been holding. He leans down and searches for the clasp of his right wristband with his teeth. The clasp clicks as it’s undone, and Oscar pulls at the end. It slides off of his wrists fairly easily, and he flings the band to the floor. He repeats the process with the other wristband, letting out an involuntary hiss at the sight of the indents they’ve left behind in his swollen flesh.</p><p>
  <em>Now for the gloves.</em>
</p><p>Dread settles in his throat. If his wrists looked <em>that</em> bad, what would his hands look like?</p><p>As if Ozpin can hear his musings, comfort washes through their bond. <em>They won’t be nearly as unsightly, </em>the professor assures him. <em>Perhaps a bit purple, but nothing too troublesome.</em></p><p>He nods silently. Purple. He can handle purple. He leans forward once more and tugs at the middle finger of his left glove with his teeth. The glove, unfortunately, doesn’t budge. He tries the other and gets the same result.</p><p>“Uh, Oz?”</p><p><em>That </em>is <em>a problem, isn’t it? It looks like your hands are too swollen to remove your gloves without cutting them.</em></p><p>Oscar balks at the idea of going through all of that again. He shakes his head and pleads, “Don’t say it.”</p><p>Ozpin chuckles softly. <em>No, freeing your wrists should be enough for now. Hopefully, the swelling will fade soon, and you can free your hands as well.</em></p><p>Oscar sighs and lets his body melt against the hard bone at his back. Rest. He can finally <em>rest.</em> His breaths are still shallow, and he feels as though he’s not getting quite enough air into his lungs, but he can’t bring himself to care. For once, no one’s using him as a human punching bag.</p><p>He can only hope that Hazel uses the lamp the way he’d intended.</p><p><em>You placed a lot of trust in him</em>, Ozpin remarks. <em>In your position, I wouldn’t have done the same.</em></p><p>“I know,” Oscar replies, “but the only way to get him to trust us is to have a little faith in him, first.” He huffs gently and rests his head on the bone. “He seems like the kind of person to appreciate honesty.”</p><p>Guilt and more than a little shame filters across their connection into Oscar’s side of their shared mind. <em>That… is something in which I admit I have limited experience</em>, Ozpin admits sadly.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>This is what you deserve!</em>
  </strong>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>As much as he doesn’t want to think about Hazel right now, his mind flashes back to their last “session” with the brute.</p><p>“Do you really believe it?”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Yes!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Believe what?</em>
</p><p>“That you deserve this.”</p><p>Ozpin’s presence vanishes behind a thick wall so abruptly that it makes Oscar’s vision white-out from the pain.</p><p>“You promised you wouldn’t do this again,” Oscar hisses. His arms twitch uselessly from the instinctive need to clutch his head, which drops into his knees. He bites his cheek to keep from screaming and grimaces as the metallic taste of iron washes over his tongue.</p><p>The wall slowly crumbles into dust. <em>I apologize</em>, Ozpin says, deep sorrow lacing his words, <em>I did promise.</em></p><p>Oscar sighs in relief as his head clears. “You can’t keep <em>running</em> from me,” he rebukes his partner. “We share this head right now, and eventually, we’re going to merge. I’ll find everything out anyway.” He lifts his head and lets it drop back onto the bone. “I don’t understand why you feel like you have to hide from me. If anything, I should be the person you trust the <em>most</em>.”</p><p>
  <em>Oscar, I –</em>
</p><p>“No, we’re dealing with this right now,” he says, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “Do you really believe you deserve this? Answer honestly.”</p><p>
  <em>Oscar…</em>
  
</p><p>His patience snaps. “The <em>truth</em>, Ozpin.”</p><p><em>Yes.</em> The admission comes so quietly that Oscar almost doesn’t hear it. An overwhelming feeling of shame and pure <em>loathing</em> presses harshly against his consciousness. <em>I deserve this.</em></p><p>The annoyance ebbs away at the man’s words. “Why?” he asks. A queasy feeling pools in his gut.</p><p>
  <em>I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I’ve made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child on this planet.</em>
</p><p>Oscar huffs. “You’ve only made that many mistakes because you’ve had the time to do so,” he says pointedly.</p><p>
  <em>Perhaps, but my mistakes –</em>
</p><p>“No one’s mistakes, no matter their number or weight, are enough to justify being <em>beaten half to death!</em>” he exclaims in frustration. “Not even yours!” Honestly, this man's self-loathing is <em>literally </em>going to be the death of him!</p><p>
  <em>Oscar, please.</em>
</p><p>“Does Salem deserve this?”</p><p>The other voice in his head catches. <em>I – no. No, she does not. </em>Sorrow replaces the loathing, and Oscar cheers at the small victory. <em>But I don’t see how that applies.</em></p><p>“She’s been alive longer than you, hasn’t she? It’s fair to say that she’s made a lot of mistakes in her life,” he replies. His mouth quirks into a wry grin. “Possibly more than any man, woman, and child on this planet?”</p><p><em>I suppose so, </em>Ozpin replies.</p><p>“Okay, so if she’s made the same number of mistakes – mistakes that are far <em>worse</em> than yours – but doesn’t deserve to be beaten within an inch of her life, why would <em>you </em>deserve it?”</p><p>Ozpin sighs. <em>Perhaps you have a point.</em></p><p>“Thank you. Now, can we put the self-loathing behind us?”</p><p>Amusement prickles at the edge of his awareness. <em>We can try</em>, <em>but no promises</em>.</p><p>Oscar rolls his eyes. At least it’s a start.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So my sister wanted me to add that the "inventory" between Oscar and Ozpin is actually pulled from our childhood. Our mom started it with me when I started doing competitive cheerleading - any time I'd take a tumble or injure myself, we'd do an inventory starting from the toes and moving to the head. When my sister started playing volleyball, I did it with her. Now, it's a habit we keep up even when she's eighteen and I'm twenty!</p><p>Also, I'm sorry for the lack of H in HOE this chapter, but Hazel's part just happens to land in the back half of what was originally chapter 2. There isn't any Oscar in the next part, though, so it's a trade off. *grins sheepishly*</p><p>They hate each other so much that they can't even reside in the same chapter?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. HOE/Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Someone asks the final question - but is the answer everything he or she is looking for?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp, I just finished writing chapter seven, it's just after midnight on Friday, so... Keeping my schedule so far! Woo!</p><p>EDIT: Playlist song - Careful by Paramore</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He doesn’t miss the way the girl’s eyes flit back and forth as if searching for an escape route, or the indecision cutting through the bored mask she’d put on her face at the beginning of this farce.</p><p>Hazel sighs warily. She’s a good kid, if misguided in her pointless quest for Cinder’s approval. “The lamp,” he commands. The words he doesn't say - <em>don't make me fight you for this, I</em> <em>don't want to hurt you </em>- sit heavily on the tip of his tongue. </p><p>Her eyes stop moving, and he’s surprised to note that she looks him straight in the eye. The girl’s never been one to face <em>anything</em> head on. If she weren’t defying him, he’d almost be proud. The indecision is gone. In its place is a wild ferocity that puts him on edge.</p><p>The expression reminds him of a wild animal.</p><p>“I don’t need the lamp to tell me the answer to <em>your</em> question, either,” she snaps. “Tyrian already confirmed what the kid was saying: Salem wants to destroy the world using the relics.” Her eyes drop to the floor. “There’s no new world order.” She laughs, a bitter, broken sound that rings hollowly in the stale air. “Just death.”</p><p>Hazel pauses to process this development. “You said <em>Tyrian</em> told you this,” he points out with disbelief. Trusting the crazy assassin with anything that doesn’t involve killing or sabotage is a mistake that no one has ever made twice. Tyrian will follow anyone who allows him to lean into his destructive urges. It’s possible that he has somehow misconstrued Salem’s goals to fit his own deluded fantasies.</p><p>“He said that if we didn’t see it, we were out of our minds,” the girl says bitterly. “He seemed pretty convinced.”</p><p>Maybe Ozpin… <em>No, </em>his mind whispers, <em>Ozpin </em>lies. <em>He lied about Gretchen. He lied about Lionheart. He’s lied to so many students, pulling them into an impossible war like lambs to the slaughter.</em></p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>This is what you deserve!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s lying about Salem, too.</em>
</p><p><strong><em>Yes, but Oscar? </em></strong>Ozpin’s words echo in his ears like a broken record. Ozpin lies – it’s a law of the universe at this point – but does his host?</p><p>He narrows his eyes at her. He <em>needs </em>to know. “Give me the lamp,” he orders. “I don’t want to fight you, but I will.”</p><p>Her eyes flit down to the lamp in her arms. “I know,” she whispers. “But I don’t care.” She breaks to the right so quickly that he almost fails to put his arm up in time to stop her. Her stomach collides with his fist, and she tumbles to the ground, the lamp clattering on the floor.</p><p>Hazel reaches for it before she can recover her breath.</p><p>“Jinn?”</p><p>His blood turns to ice in his veins. The lamp bursts into pieces beneath his fingers and fades into nothing. He growls and rises to his full height. <em>When did she – </em></p><p>His thoughts come to a screeching halt when the lamp’s gentle glow flares so brightly that he has to shield his eyes. The sound of clanking metal reaches his ears; soft, pure laughter fills the room. The light fades somewhat, and Hazel drops his hand to his sides.</p><p>A giant glowing blue woman floats next to the girl, who’d somehow managed to get to the other side of the room. She gazes at them curiously over the hands resting beneath her chin. “I am Jinn, a being created by the God of light to aide humanity in its pursuit of knowledge. I have been graced with the ability to answer three questions every one hundred years.”</p><p><em>The kid was telling the truth</em>, Hazel’s mind supplies blearily. He’d told the truth and risked everything on blind trust knowing very well that Hazel could give the password to Salem.</p><p>The woman smiles warmly. “You’re in luck,” she says, “as I am still able to answer one question this era.”</p><p>The truth doesn’t so much as hit him as it does bowl him over. The kid isn’t afraid of her answer because what Ozpin said was the <em>truth</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Ozpin told the truth.</em>
</p><p>“I…” the girl says, staring at him with a torn expression.</p><p>Hazel knows what he has to do.</p><p>He raises his arms in a gesture of surrender. “I have my answer,” he says. He waves at the woman without dropping his hands. “Do whatever you think is right.”</p><p>The woman’s smile widens. “I believe I’ve seen this scene play out before,” she says with amusement. She claps her hands. “Well, now.” She levels the girl an anticipatory stare. “Tell me, girl, what knowledge do you seek?”</p><p>“What…” the girl pauses, clearly conflicted. She wrings her hands and takes a deep breath.</p><p><em>What does Cinder feel for me? </em>he guesses. Odd way to phrase the question, but –</p><p>“What does Salem plan to do when she gets all four relics?”</p><p>Hazel blinks in surprise, and the world goes white.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Uh, hello? Hazel? Jinn?” Emerald calls into the silence. The blank space keeps her disoriented. One second, she feels as though she’s walking forward. The next, she feels like she’s taken a wrong turn somewhere and ended up right back where she’s started.</p><p>She’s heard about this: sailors who fall so deep into the ocean that they can’t tell which way is up. To her, there's little difference between murky blue and endless white.</p><p>The world bursts into a landscape of yellow, grey, and blue. She floats above a large pool. A woman lays on its surface.</p><p>“What did you do to me?” she says to Emerald as she scrambles to her feet.</p><p><em>Lady, I’ve never even </em>met <em>you, </em>Emerald wants to reply, but the words lodge themselves in her throat.</p><p>“I have made you immortal,” a voice replies.</p><p>The woman isn’t speaking to her. Emerald whirls around to see two beings, one brightly shining pure gold, the other pitch black, standing over them. She shudders. She knows that she isn’t really here – that this is whatever illusion Jinn has come up with – but the sheer <em>power </em>these beings exude…</p><p>“Immortal?”</p><p>“You cannot die. You cannot be with your beloved,” the black one says. Where the first voice was smooth and gentle, even in its reprimand, the second is harsh and grating against her ears.</p><p>“So long as the world turns,” both beings say together, “you shall walk its face.”</p><p>Emerald’s view shifts, and she finds herself standing off to the side rather than between the three. The woman stares at the beings with disbelief.</p><p>The gold one speaks, “You must learn the importance of life and death. Only then may you rest.”</p><p><em>This doesn’t answer my question! </em>She growls silently. <em>This isn’t -</em></p><p><strong>No, </strong>Jinn’s lofty voice whispers in her mind, <strong>but it <em>is</em> context. Watch<em>.</em></strong></p><p>And watch she does. Jinn leads her through the many moments of this woman’s life. Her anger, her rage, her ill-fated war against the gods… Throughout it all, Emerald wonders who this woman was fighting for that was so important. She also wonders what, if anything, this woman has to do with Salem.</p><p>She watches the gods destroy the world. A <em>remnant</em>, they call it. A sick feeling begins to well in her gut. <em>Remnant. </em>They vanish, taking their gifts with them, and Emerald wants to scream. They just <em>left?</em> The world was just an <em>experiment?</em></p><p>Then the woman dives into a pool of Grimm, and everything snaps into focus with sickening clarity.</p><p><em>Salem? </em>She blinks in fascination as the woman, red-eyed, pure white, climbs from the pool. She is different than the Salem Emerald knows. This Salem lacks harsh red veins and the imposing hairstyle. Despite the destruction and mayhem Emerald has seen this woman bring about in the name of love, there’s a softness to the woman’s features that calls to her. <em>She’s Salem?</em> </p><p>It’s hard to believe that Salem could love someone this much. Actually, Emerald has a hard time believing Salem could love <em>anyone</em>.</p><p>The woman and the Grimm pool vanishes. A new scene appears: a man wakes in the whiteness. He glances around, clearly confused.</p><p>“Ozma.”</p><p>A golden dragon floats before them. It shifts into the being from the first scene and begins to speak. Emerald watches with rapt attention as the god explains everything that’s happened so far: the other god’s rampage and humanity’s destruction. He offers to send the man back to the world.</p><p>She jumps in surprise as the god materializes a staff, a sword, a crown, and a familiar looking lamp in his hands.</p><p><em>The relics</em>, she thinks. She wills herself to move closer to the god until she is floating almost directly in front of them. <em>So</em> <em>that’s what they look like.</em> Salem once mentioned that, of the relics, the lamp is the weakest.</p><p>She thinks of Jinn and the massive illusion that Emerald could never hope to attempt. If this is the weakest relic’s power, she can’t help but wonder how much more power the other three must contain.</p><p>“Creation, destruction, choice, and knowledge were the ideals upon which Humanity was made. Now I leave them behind with the hope that you will learn to remake yourselves.”</p><p>The four relics merge into one brightly glowing sphere. “If brought together, these four relics will summon my brother and I back to your world, and humanity will be judged.”</p><p><em>Judged?</em> Her stomach rolls uncomfortably. Judging implies consequence.</p><p>She watches silently as the god continues, “If your kind has learned to live in harmony and set aside their differences, then we shall once again live among you, and humanity will be made whole again. But if your kind is unchanged, if you demand our blessings while still fighting amongst yourselves, then men will be found irredeemable and your world will be wiped from existence.”</p><p>The unsettled feeling curdles into full-blown nausea. She’s vaguely aware of the god and the man talking in the background, but she can’t bring herself to listen. Sabotaging the Vytal Festival, Salem’s insistence that the tower at Beacon fall no matter the cost, hacking the Atlas Military drones, the White Fang, <em>destroying Haven</em>… At the time, she’d thought it was all a distraction to ensure their retrieval of the relics and maybe cause a little panic.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>If you demand our blessings while still fighting amongst yourselves…</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Terrify them. Keep them from communicating. Make them attack each other and make sure the most powerful military in Remnant takes the blame. <em>It’s about keeping them apart</em>, she realizes.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Your world will be wiped from existence</em>
  </strong>
  <em>.</em>
</p><p>The pieces of the picture fall into place, and Emerald feels her heart plummet into her stomach.</p><p>
  <em>She’s going to destroy the world.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ozma and the god vanish into vapor.</p><p>Hazel glances around, looking for the next part of the story. This isn’t everything, and it certainly isn’t an answer.</p><p>But nothing comes.</p><p>“Jinn?” he calls into the silence. “Is this it?” He waits a few moments for a response before calling once more, “Jinn?”</p><p>Black overtakes the previously blank canvas around him, and he finds himself staring into nothing. He turns, scanning the area for anything of note. At least there was light, before. But now...</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>Absolutely nothing.</p><p>“What <em>is </em>this?” he whispers.</p><p><strong>It is nothing<em>, </em></strong>Jinn replies. <strong>An empty void.</strong></p><p>Suddenly, it feels as though the blackness is pressing in against him. It squeezes, shoves, and tightens around his chest. He struggles against it as it shoves him down, deeper, into the black as if wishing to swallow even <em>him </em>in its maw.</p><p>
  <strong>You asked what she plans?</strong>
</p><p>He can’t breathe<em>. </em>He chokes on the overwhelming feeling of <em>empty</em>.</p><p>
  <strong>She plans to <em>cease</em>.</strong>
</p><p>The darkness vanishes as if it had never existed in the first place.</p><p>Hazel falls to his knees, his lungs gasping for something, anything, to fill them. He can hear another person’s haggard breathing and guesses that the girl saw it, too. He claws at the floor with his fingers hoping that the physical contact will ground him somehow.</p><p>It takes him a few moments to get his head on straight, but once he does, he is climbing to his feet. His vision blurs just a bit – the panic from earlier has faded somewhat but hasn’t left entirely – and he pauses to let himself adjust. Jinn is gone, and the lamp, no longer glowing, has fallen back into the girl’s hands.</p><p>The girl stares at him from across the room, the lamp clutched tightly in her hands. She looks at him, at the lamp, and then back to him, her mouth moving wordlessly. She takes one more look at the lamp and drops it like it burns. It clatters to the floor, the sound cutting through the tension like a knife. She takes one step back, then another, and before Hazel can say anything, she’s pushing past him.</p><p>The echo of her footsteps slowly fades away, and Hazel is left to figure out what happens next on his own.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Understanding Salem’s plan is one thing, but actually <em>seeing </em>it? Even if it’s a projection of what might be, that vast, empty <em>nothing</em> terrifies her. Her feet swiftly carry her through winding corridors; her eyes sting.</p><p>Emerald wants nothing more than to be anywhere but here.</p><p>She shouldn’t have asked the question. Now that she knows – now that she’s <em>seen </em>it – she can’t go back to blindly following. She can’t turn a blind eye and let Salem erase the world because then… She’d lose everything she cares about. Mercury. <em>Cinder.</em></p><p>Her feet stop. She stares up at the entrance before her and wants to laugh and cry all at once. Speak of the devil.</p><p>She puts a hand up to the small sigil set in the center of the door, but nothing happens. She sighs. Of course, it won’t open; Cinder’s off rescuing Watts.</p><p>Emerald trudges down the hall toward her own room. Cinder is off on her rescue mission, and Mercury is on his way to Vacuo with <em>Tyrian</em>. Getting a message out to either of them about this is going to be next to impossible.</p><p>She growls, feeling frustration bubble to the surface. Her fist connects solidly with the closest wall. How did this <em>happen</em>? How could they allow themselves to be separated like this? Warm liquid slips down her face. Cinder and Mercury are all she has; they’re in <em>danger</em>, and they don’t have a clue. The frustration shifts into a burst of anger. Whether it’s directed at herself, Salem, Cinder, or the stupid kid who started this entire mess, she isn’t sure.</p><p>Something behind her moves quietly. Emerald whirls around, quickly wiping the tears from her face and putting a hand to one of her holsters.</p><p>Neopolitan’s hands go up in surrender.</p><p>“What do you want?” Emerald snaps.</p><p>The other woman points at Emerald and cocks her head to the side in a silent question.</p><p>Emerald’s eyes narrow. She hasn’t had much interaction with the other woman outside of a few awkward introductions and that one trip to Amity. “None of your business.” She marches down the hall, shoving past Neopolitan with little care. She doesn’t really know where she’s going – her room is in the opposite direction – but if it gets her away from her <em>replacement, </em>as Merc had put it, and gives her time to think? Well, she won’t complain.</p><p>A hand clutches her arm tightly, forcing her to stop and turn around. “<em>What</em>?”</p><p>Neopolitan releases Emerald’s arm and crosses her own over her chest. She raises an eyebrow, leaning back on one leg in the perfect picture of “do you think I’m an idiot?”.</p><p>Emerald sighs. “Seriously, it’s none of your business,” she mutters.</p><p>Void, <em>empty... </em>Nothing.</p><p><em>Isn’t it? </em>Her conscience whispers softly.</p><p>Neopolitan shakes her head. She points in the direction of the prison cells and back to Emerald with a knowing look.</p><p>“It’s not – It isn’t that,” she protests. Mostly, anyway. She sighs and hazards a sweep of the corridor. “Come on. I’d rather do this somewhere else.”</p><p>She leads the other woman to her room not bothering with any small talk – one of the nice things about having a silent assassin around is that there’s no need for awkward attempts at conversation.</p><p>Once they’re safely inside the room, Emerald drops her guard only slightly. While she thinks the other woman might understand… well, she’s not going to assume.</p><p>“Hazel and I…” She swallows the dread creeping up her throat. This is it. She’s about to admit to betraying Salem. Neither she nor Mercury are sure why Neopolitan decided to come with them – Cinder wasn’t exactly forthcoming, and it wasn’t like the woman would say anything anyway – but she’s hoping desperately that it wasn’t because she believed in Salem’s master plan. “We used the lamp to ask about Salem,” she admits.</p><p>The other woman’s eyes widen in surprise, but she waves a hand for Emerald to continue.</p><p>“Cinder, Hazel, Mercury – we’ve all been fighting for a new world. One where <em>we’re </em>on top.” She clenches her hands into fists. The words feel like ash on her tongue. “She <em>promised</em> us,” she says, unable to keep the quiver out of her voice. “But Jinn, the genie in the lamp, she showed us the truth. Salem lied. She’s going to use the relics to destroy everything so that she can die.”</p><p>Neopolitan’s mouth opens in a silent o.</p><p>“I’m not saying that I want to try and stop her,” Emerald says softly, her eyes falling to the floor. And she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to go up against <em>her</em>. “But I don’t want to help her anymore, either.” She lifts her eyes to meet the other woman’s. “I’m going to find Cinder and tell her about this. She wouldn't help Salem if she knew. I know that,” she explains.</p><p>Emerald’s hands loosen. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and looks directly into Neopolitan's eyes with her best determined look. Here’s the gambit. “I don’t think you want the world to end, Neopolitan,” she says with all the confidence she can muster. “Come with me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Some familiar stuff here from Vol 6, but I feel like it's warranted. I thought about the question everyone's been talking about: What is Salem hiding? But I don't feel like that's a question that would occur to Emerald. For Ruby, it was clear that Ozpin was hiding something and whether or not he was telling the whole truth was the question. Emerald's situation is a little different. In this case, the question is whether or not Salem is actively lying, not lying through omission. So the question would be more pointed and less broad.</p><p>I did actually toy with Emerald asking about Cinder, but as much of a possibility that could be in canon, I think Emerald isn't going to ask it. Everything I've seen of Emerald screams someone who runs when things get bad. She's a thief, a street rat, she doesn't stick it out if she doesn't have to. I think it's a very real possibility that she won't ask about Cinder because she's too afraid to know. Finding answers is leaving the questions with which we're comfortable.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. JRY/Trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one where everyone has trust issues, Jaune has performance anxiety, Ren sees everyone's true colors shining through, and Yang wants to punch someone.</p><p>Playlist Song: Light by Nathan Wagner</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wanted to get this up sometime earlier in the day, but I've spent most of it in the hospital with my sister. Dummy got into a wreck (she's mostly okay - broken arm and a concussion) with a tree. The only casualty was her bike. And her pride.</p><p>Anyhow, so, without further ado, here's chapter four!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing he notices is the smell. Grimm have always had a musty smell of rot and decay to him, but down here, in the belly of the beast, it’s about ten times worse.</p><p>The second thing Jaune notices is <em>red</em>. Red walls, brick red floors, the occasional glowing red crystal lighting the path. It’s a little strange – he generally associates Grimm with the color <em>black</em> – and he’s not sure what to make of it. Then again, he’s never seen the inside of a Grimm, so all Grimm might actually be red on the inside. He shakes his musings away and narrows his eyes. Oscar. They’re here for Oscar.</p><p>He pulls out his scroll – Winter had returned them after locking all but basic functions and one contact – and sends, <em>We’re in. Hole in the top. Unguarded. Big enough for three.</em></p><p>Almost immediately, Winter responds, <em>Prepping payload. 2hrs.</em></p><p>Two hours… Jaune swallows around the lump forming in his throat. That isn’t a lot of time. He’s about to put his scroll away when it vibrates once more.</p><p>
  <em>Good luck. </em>
</p><p>“Which way?” Yang murmurs as he shoves the scroll into his pocket.</p><p>Jaune bites his lip and glances one way, then the other. They’ve landed in a corridor with only two paths available to them. He’s fairly certain that one way will lead to the front of the monster, and the other will lead further into its body.</p><p>So, the question is, would Salem keep a prisoner – oh how he <em>loathes </em>that word with all his being, especially when it refers to Oscar – near the front or closer to the middle? The front is probably closer to her command center, but it’s also closer to the entrance. It would be too easy for a rescue party to get to the prisoner, and if he escaped, he’d have an easier time making his way out of the monster.</p><p>No, she’d keep him further in to disorient him and anyone looking for him.</p><p>He points in the direction he hopes will take them further into the Grimm. “We go deeper and make it quick. Winter says we have two hours at most,” he orders the group. His teammates nod, and Ren is the first one down the hallway. Yang follows closely behind, her gauntlets at the ready.</p><p>Jaune opts to take the last position. He feels somewhat better knowing he has his team’s back. If something chooses to attack from behind, <em>Crocea Mors</em> is ready and waiting with a nice slashy greeting. That – that’s something Ruby would say.</p><p>He grins softly and wonders what she would think of all this.</p><p>Shame and guilt coil in his gut, constricting his stomach like snakes wrapping around their prey. Probably nothing. Ruby wouldn’t have let them get into this mess in the first place.</p><p>Ren stops and holds up a hand. They’ve come to the end of the corridor, which leads into a T-intersection. They can either go left or right.</p><p>Jaune watches with bated breath as Ren peeks around the corner. He pulls back quickly and motions for them to back up against the wall. Jaune complies quickly and crouches so as to make himself less visible. Ren must have seen something coming their way.</p><p>Yang crouches beside him, her gauntlet and arm prepped for combat. He pushes the arm closest to him down gently and shakes his head. <em>Ember Celica </em>is too loud for this. Better to save it for when – <em>if</em>, some hopeful part of him whispers – they have to fight in the open. The stealthy combat should go to him and Ren.</p><p>Yang glares daggers at him, but she doesn’t protest.</p><p>Ren backs away from the corner and crouches next to her.</p><p>He hears the Grimm’s heavy footsteps before he sees it. They’re loud and loping – something that travels on four legs. He bites his cheek as his mind narrows down the possibilities. He preps <em>Crocea Mors </em>to strike –</p><p>But Ren’s already dealt the approaching Beowulf a death blow.</p><p>His teammate glances down at them and makes an ‘up’ motion with his hand. He points down the hall where the Grimm came from and sends Jaune a pointed look.</p><p>Jaune blinks. Okay then. He nods, and Ren disappears around the corner. He and Yang follow suit.</p><p>They continue this pattern through winding paths that sometimes slope up, plummet, or even simply stop with no rhyme or reason. Occasionally, Ren will usher them against the wall and take out an approaching Grimm with a single strike, his blades glinting harshly in the red light. Then, they’ll follow the path until Jaune has to make another decision.</p><p>He’s surprised, actually. This entire operation is going fairly well so far.</p><p>They finally come to a corridor that looks vastly different from any of the others they’ve seen. For one thing, it’s brighter. Soft light streams into the space through the Grimm’s membrane, which seems to be thinner here than in the rest of its body. For another, indents much like doorways line the walls at random intervals.</p><p>Jaune is willing to bet that this hallway houses actual rooms. As for what <em>kind </em>of rooms… He shudders. The last thing he wants is to walk into Salem’s bedroom. Or, brothers forbid, <em>Tyrian’s </em>room. He has enough nightmares, thank you. No need to add a deranged serial killer’s bedroom to the list.</p><p>Yang taps on his shoulder and motions toward the closest door. She raises an eyebrow and cocks her head. <em>Should we? </em>Is the unspoken question.</p><p>Jaune weighs the idea in his head. Well, it can’t hurt, can it? If they’re lucky, Salem’s lackeys will be out doing… whatever it is she has them doing. He nods.</p><p>Ren and Yang creep closer to the door and make it so that one of them is standing on either side of it. Jaune trusts them to handle whatever’s on the other side, so he turns around to play lookout for them. It won’t do them any good if a Grimm catches them here.</p><p>He hears a soft squelching sound – he doesn’t bother to hide his cringing because <em>wow</em> that is <em>disgusting</em> – and a soft huff.</p><p>“If you’re looking for the kid,” a familiar voice that is <em>not</em> Yang says wryly, “you’re in the wrong place.”</p><p>He whirls to face Emerald, <em>Crocea Mors</em> ready and waiting for an attack. Yang and Ren stand tense where they were waiting, but neither of them moves. Good. It would be better not to play their hand too soon.</p><p>Emerald steps out of the room, her face set in a slight frown. Behind her comes Neopolitan. He growls, remembering the patches of dirt and scratches on Oscar’s clothes after their scuffle in Atlas.</p><p>The woman waves.</p><p>Jaune scowls.</p><p>Emerald holds her hands up in the air. “Look, I don’t want to fight you right now,” she says warily. She points down the hall in the direction from which they’d come earlier. “Down that way, take a left, then a right, and you’ll find a hallway like this one. He’s in the second room to the right. Watch out for the Seers.”</p><p>“And why should we trust you?” Yang asks. She steps forward so that she’s almost a foot away from the two women. Ren follows her movements and stands opposite her so that the three of them are sanding in a triangle formation. It’s as close to surrounding the two goons as they’re going to get. “You work for Salem.”</p><p>“I work for <em>Cinder</em>. Big difference,” Emerald snaps. “And I’m not exactly Salem’s biggest fan at the moment, so letting you steal one of her toys doesn’t bother me all that much.”</p><p>Yang visibly bristles at the word “toys” and takes a menacing step forward, a snarl on her face.</p><p>“She’s telling the truth,” Ren says from where he’s standing before Yang can do much else. “She’s angry – someone’s betrayed her?”</p><p>Jaune blinks. Right, Ren’s new party trick. They’re <em>definitely </em>talking about this later.</p><p>Emerald’s face darkens considerably. Her mouth opens to say something, but she shakes her head and sets her mouth in a deep scowl.</p><p>Ren squints as if he’s trying to glimpse something he can’t quite see. “She’s…” he pauses, his eyes widening, “she’s <em>horrified</em>.” His eyes turn to the other woman, who takes a step backward. “They both are.”</p><p>“Finally realized that your queen is the bad guy?” Yang asks with a snort. “Took you long enough.”</p><p>Emerald’s face screws into an annoyed expression. “Look, we don’t have time to stand around and argue.” She waves a hand in Jaune’s direction. “I don’t know how you got in, but you need to get the kid and get out before someone other than us figures out that you’re here,” she says. “We don’t want to stick around here any more than you.”</p><p>“Great,” Yang says brightly, a toothy smile stretching across her face, “you can come with us so we <em>know</em> that you won’t go running to Salem the moment we turn our backs, and then we can all leave <em>together</em>.” She raises her fists higher. “Or we can fight. I wouldn’t mind a rematch,” she says with a nod to Neopolitan.</p><p>Said woman laughs silently and sticks her tongue out at the blonde.</p><p>Yang growls, but Emerald puts a hand between her and the other woman. “Fine,” she mutters, “we’ll help you.” She glances at Jaune. “You don’t mind us taking the lead, do you?”</p><p>He mulls it over in his mind. On one hand, they know this place better. On the other, they might lead the group right into Salem’s lap.</p><p><em>And</em>, his mind whispers, <em>there’s the bomb.</em></p><p>His gut twists. They can’t get sidetracked. Not with Ironwood’s bomb on the way.</p><p>“Emerald first, Ren next, Yang, Neopolitan, and I’ll bring up the rear.” He looks around the group. “Any objections?”</p><p>Ren and Yang shake their heads. Emerald and Neopolitan share a look.</p><p>“Just stay close and be <em>quiet</em> when I tell you,” Emerald orders. “My semblance can’t reach a wide area, and it takes a lot of concentration to alter sound. Seers can hear as well as they can see.”</p><p>He nods. “Alright then,” he gestures in the direction Emerald had suggested they go earlier, “let’s go.”</p><p>To his surprise, the entire affair goes rather smoothly, all things considered. Emerald takes off down the corridor, Ren at her heels. The rest of the group falls into line without any hesitation. Emerald keeps a quick pace, her footsteps light on the smooth floors. They’re moving much faster than JRY’s original tempo, but Jaune isn’t surprised. This is Emerald’s turf, and she has a semblance that makes them practically undetectable.</p><p>They don’t need to be nearly as careful.</p><p>Soft clicking reaches his ears as Emerald holds out an arm. She and the others vanish into thin air, and Jaune has to hold back a gasp. He pokes his hand out to where Neopolitan had been standing just moments before and hits hard leather. He yanks his hand back and stares at where it <em>should </em>be.</p><p>He’s never experienced this end of an illusion semblance. It’s a surreal experience, to say the least.</p><p>The clicking grows louder, and Jaune startles from him musings. A Seer, tall and lanky, floats down the middle of the corridor toward the group. He freezes on instinct as it passes and does his best to suppress the pounding in his ears because <em>brothers what if it can hear him</em> –</p><p>But the Seer moves past him without pause. The pounding in his ears recedes.</p><p>Neopolitan reappears and glances at him with a curious expression.</p><p>Jaune lets out the breath he’s been holding and flashes her a tiny grin. She nods, and the group continues through winding red corridors.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ren does his best to ignore the dull pain that has settled behind his eyes. Overusing a semblance has side effects – Tranquility takes a lot of energy to maintain and leaves him exhausted after extended use – and, as he has discovered, his new one isn’t any different.</p><p>Burnt orange petals fall like a curtain around their guide. If he strains enough, flashes of sickly green manage to burst through the cloak of <em>vigilance </em>and <em>fear</em> she has pulled around herself. She is suppressing the <em>horror </em>she’s feeling very well, but she can’t hide it in its entirety.</p><p>It is… strange being able to see a person’s emotions. Strange, but useful. At least this way, he can be of use. He can ensure that Emerald and her friend can’t blindside them, that they won’t be caught by surprise. He can make it so that what happened to Oscar <em>never happens again</em>.</p><p>Team JNPR has lost Pyrrha, the lamp, Beacon…</p><p>They won’t lose Oscar.</p><p>Teammates, <em>friends</em>, aren’t replaceable, despite what the Ace-Ops have deluded themselves into believing.</p><p>The petals in front of him shift colors. Soft lilac, <em>apprehension</em>, slips between orange and slowly begins to take root as the dominant color. Each step brings more lilac, and Ren takes a moment to look at his surroundings rather than his guide. He notes that the walls here are different; they are jagged and rough. The teeth-like bones that line the floor are sharper, more imposing. He passes one that easily reaches his chest, and he shudders thinking about how easily its razor-sharp tip could slice someone open.</p><p>An image of Oscar, sharp, pale bone protruding from his chest, flashes through Ren’s mind, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to snap himself out of it.</p><p>He nearly collides with Emerald when the woman stops in front of a doorway that looks no different from any other doorway they’ve seen in this place. By this point, the orange and lilac petals are swirling around each other in an agitated fashion, twisting and writhing like they're desperate to escape.</p><p>“This is it,” she says softly. She puts a hand to the door and hesitates on top of a sigil at its center. “He didn’t look good last time I saw him.”</p><p>“Just open the door,” Yang orders impatiently behind him.</p><p>Emerald’s hand touches the sigil, and it glows for a moment. The door turns into goo. The loud <em>squelch</em> from earlier echoes in the corridor as it falls. The woman moves to the side to let Ren, Yang, and Jaune pass.</p><p>A metallic scent hits Ren’s nostrils before he enters the door. His eyes narrow. Blood.</p><p>He enters first, weapons ready in case Emerald and Neopolitan have led them into a trap, but on first glance, there doesn’t seem to be anyone in the room.</p><p>Then he sees the heap of indigo and brown petals lying lifeless on the floor around a body slumped against bone, and his mind halts.</p><p>“Oscar!” Yang exclaims, pushing past Ren. She rushes to their friend and crouches at his side. Jaune isn’t far behind, his hands glowing.</p><p>A part of Ren <em>aches</em> to join them, but he forces himself to look around the cell more carefully. Jaune’s semblance helps people heal. Yang is good at comforting others.</p><p>Ren is…</p><p>He’s more useful gathering information.</p><p>The first thing he notices are the puddles of liquid – likely blood – dotting the floor. The largest one is toward the back of the room beneath a wicked looking hook that hands from the ceiling. Ren’s mind flashes to the butcher in Kuroyuri and the hooks that would hold meat for his customers to peruse.</p><p>Anger, white hot, burning <em>anger </em>flares in his chest. The implications are disturbing.</p><p>“Oscar? Oscar, wake up,” Yang says gently. “It’s working, right?”</p><p>Ren’s attention turns to his team. Yang and Jaune almost completely cover the boy; he can’t see anything from where he’s standing.</p><p>He approaches slowly so as not to distract Jaune. Torn strips of something catch his attention by his teammate’s left boot, and he crouches to grab examine one of them. He can’t see it very well, but he doesn’t have to know what color it is to recognize the texture. It is support tape, much like the kind he and Yang use when they spar bare-knuckle. The amount on the floor is too much for it to have been used as bandages – in fact, between the strip in his hand and the ones strewn about the scene, Ren is willing to bet that this is almost an entire roll of it.</p><p>“I… Hang on,” Jaune replies.</p><p>Ren stands and looks back and forth between the spotted tape and the hook. Oscar was hanging from it at some point, and he’s fairly certain the tape was probably what held him there.</p><p>“Jaune?”</p><p>Jaune growls in frustration. “I can’t… My semblance isn’t <em>working</em>!” His petals swirl in a flurry of red-orange <em>frustration</em> so wild that Ren almost activates the other side of his semblance on instinct.</p><p>He places his free hand on Jaune’s shoulder. He still can’t see Oscar clearly because of his teammates, but he is sure that the boy is in bad shape. “Jaune,” he murmurs, “stay calm. Focus.”</p><p>The glowing stops, and Jaune’s hands frustratedly rifle through his hair. “It’s not that,” he says, shoving Ren’s hand away. “My semblance boosts other peoples’ aura, but with Oscar, there’s <em>nothing to boost,</em>” he practically growls the second part of his explanation. “When was the last time he ate?”</p><p>“Yesterday morning,” Ren supplies, remembering Oscar’s talk of having soup when they found him.</p><p>“I doubt they’ve fed him since he’s been here. Between hunger and exhaustion, I don’t think his body has the capacity to make aura right now,” Jaune mutters.</p><p>“So you can’t heal him?” Yang asks, her voice rising. Her petals shift in hue from light orange to fiery red startlingly quickly.</p><p>“I can put all of my aura into my semblance,” he explains softly, petals turning a greyish blue, “but zero times anything is still going to be zero.”</p><p>A yellow blur streaks past Ren. Something thumps heavily behind him, and Ren hears Yang snarl, “What. Did. You. <em>Do</em>?”</p><p>Ren wants to look, but a soft whine pulls him to the boy on the floor. He takes Yang’s place and kneels beside Oscar and swallows the bile creeping up his throat. He thought he was prepared for what they would find with Emerald’s warning ringing in his ears, but this…</p><p>Cuts litter Oscar’s face. His lip is split in two, like someone had hit him directly in the mouth. A hefty purple spot rests just above the right side of his jaw, and an ugly black bruise rests just to the left of his nose. His right eye is puffy and swollen – Ren would be surprised if the boy could even open it properly.</p><p>He gently wipes away the blood pooling at the corner of Oscar’s mouth and peers at his face for some sign of awareness. The boy’s features remain slack. If it weren’t for the bruises, Ren would think he was in a restful sleep.</p><p>The last thing he notices is the large black burn mark covering almost the entirety of his chest. He wants to pull away the charred fabric and check the skin beneath, but he can’t bring himself to look. He’s seen these marks before on someone else – Nora, when she’d first discovered her semblance during a thunderstorm. Unlike then, there’s sure to be damage. As far as he knows, Oscar hasn’t awakened anything like High Voltage.</p><p>“Didn’t do <em>anything</em>,” Emerald chokes out, “<em>Hazel</em>.”</p><p>Ren looks over Jaune’s shoulder at the two. Yang has Emerald pressed against the wall, her prosthetic arm pinning the woman’s torso and her human one pressed up against her neck. Neopolitan hovers nearby with her umbrella pointed threateningly at the blonde.</p><p>“Yang,” Jaune says, not even sparing them a glance, “<em>stop</em>.” He pulls Oscar’s arms – the sight of his bloody wrists makes Ren’s blood boil – to his chest, slides his arms beneath the boy’s back and legs, and gently lifts him from the floor in a bridal carry, careful not to jostle him any further.</p><p>Yang snarls and drops Emerald whose legs buckle beneath her as she rubs her neck.</p><p>“He needs a doctor,” Jaune informs them sadly, glancing down at the boy in his arms who still hasn’t reacted to anything they’ve done so far.</p><p>“So, we get out and get him to Dr. Polendina,” Yang replies as if doing so will be a cakewalk. She grins toothily at Emerald. It’s not directed at him, but Ren finds himself a bit unnerved by the expression and the underlying threat beneath it. “I’m assuming you have an escape route?”</p><p>Emerald huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “There’s an airship hangar on the other end of Monstra,” she says. “We should be able to steal one of the ships and sneak away in the battle.” She raises an eyebrow and looks directly at Jaune. “What, you didn’t have a plan to get yourselves out?”</p><p>Jaune’s petals turn a brilliant shade of yellow. “We, uh, hadn’t really gotten that far,” he admits.</p><p>Emerald <em>tsks</em> and rolls her eyes. “Typical.” She waves for them to follow as she heads back into the hallway, Neopolitan in tow.</p><p>Ren looks to Jaune and Yang and motions in their direction with his head. Yang frowns as Jaune follows silently. She waves Ren in front of her, and then they’re slipping back into maze.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yang wants to punch someone. Preferably Hazel or Salem, but Emerald might do in a pinch.</p><p>She’s positioned herself at the back of the group. Jaune and Oscar need to be in the center for their protection, and Yang doesn’t trust herself to be up next to Emerald and Neopolitan.</p><p>She doesn’t trust herself around <em>anyone </em>right now.</p><p>“How far from the hangar?” Jaune asks. “How long is this going to take?”</p><p>Emerald glances back at them. “Far. I’d say it should take us twenty, maybe thirty minutes,” she replies. “Why?”</p><p>“Just… worried.”</p><p><em>About the bomb,</em> Yang finishes in her mind. Her internal clock tells her that it’s been a little less than an hour since they dropped into “Monstra”.</p><p>She pulls out her scroll and types a quick message. <em>Oscar retrieved. In bad shape.</em></p><p>She doesn’t have to wait long for a reply. <em>Exit strategy?</em></p><p>She has to fight to keep herself from growling. No offer for help? No concern? Atlas <em>assholes</em>. She pushes her frustration away and replies, <em>Airship Hangar/Landing Zone near back of Grimm. </em>She makes a point of not mentioning Emerald or Neopolitan. <em>Might be able to steal a ship.</em></p><p>
  <em>Dropping payload in the hole. Approx. 75m. Message when clear.</em>
</p><p>Winter’s connection drops, and Yang shoves her scroll into a pocket with a deep scowl. They should have plenty of time, but she doesn’t want to chance it. They need to move quickly.</p><p>Jaune stops in front of her; she almost walks right into his back.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>Her vision goes blood-red. She <em>knows</em> that voice. Her blood boils in her veins, and she gently pulls Jaune behind her to put as much space between Oscar and Hazel as possible. No one is hurting the kid ever again; she’ll see to it.</p><p>The man stands in front of them, his large figure blocking a good portion of the corridor.</p><p>Emerald stares up at him. “<em>Neo and I</em>,” she says pointedly, "are going to warn Cinder about Salem.” She gestures back in JOYR’s direction. “They’re just tagging along.”</p><p>Hazel raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re going to try to stop her? After everything you’ve seen?” he questions incredulously.</p><p>Yang’s anger abates somewhat at that. <em>Everything they’ve seen?</em></p><p>“She can’t die, kid,” the man continues. “What chance do you have?”</p><p>It’s that comment that sees her anger returning to the forefront of her mind. “I think we’ve done pretty well so far,” she mutters. <em>Well, no. Not really</em>, a traitorous part of her points out, <em>that fact that you’re even </em>here<em> is proof of that.</em> She swats the thought back into a cold, dark corner of her mind. There will be time for introspection and guilt later.</p><p>Neither Emerald nor Hazel react to her comment. “I’m not joining the other side or anything,” Emerald says blandly, “but if I just happen to let the last lead to the Beacon relic slip away?” She shrugs. “Happy accident.”</p><p>Somewhere in the back of her mind, Yang remembers a little villa in Mistral where Ruby once mentioned that the Beacon relic was hidden differently than the others. Salem has the lamp, right? Couldn’t she have asked…</p><p>A hot bundle of rage builds in her chest. Oscar’s bruises, the blood – Salem doesn’t know the password to the lamp. <em>That’s </em>why she took him.</p><p>Emerald looks back at Neopolitan who nods.</p><p>“Neo agrees. We’re not going up against her, but we’re not helping her wipe Remnant from existence.”</p><p>That’s why Hazel <em>beat </em>him. A fourteen-year-old boy whose only crime was unwillingly carrying the soul of an ancient wizard in his head.</p><p>“So, what are <em>you </em>going to do?” she challenges. “You kept the lamp.”</p><p>Behind her, Jaune gasps softly, and Yang’s mind screeches to a halt.</p><p>He <em>what</em>?</p><p>Does that mean they used it?</p><p>Hazel’s attention flicks to them for a brief moment, but Emerald quickly says, “You could have left it and walked away. You could have taken the password to her in the first place, and then she’d have <em>two </em>relics.” The tension in her shoulders eases as she continues, “But you didn’t, which tells me that you don’t want to help her, either.”</p><p>Hazel’s eyes narrow dangerously, and Yang almost <em>hopes</em> that the man attacks. She’d like a good excuse to knock the daylights out of him. “You don’t know what I want,” he says.</p><p>“You’re right. I don’t,” Emerald replies with a shrug. “Do you?”</p><p>She looks back at the group and motions for them to follow. Without another look in Hazel’s direction, she side-steps him and continues down the corridor.</p><p>Yang ushers Jaune ahead of her, careful to keep herself between Hazel and Oscar at all times, and levels the man a furious glare before she leaves.</p><p>“Wait.”</p><p>The group stops, and Yang, who’s closest, turns and says, “What?”</p><p>Hazel reaches down into one of his pockets, and Yang immediately drops into a fighting stance. If she remembers correctly, that’s where he keeps his dust crystals.</p><p>She drops her arms in confusion when he pulls out two very familiar objects.</p><p>“Here,” he says, striding over to her and holding them out for her to take. His left hand holds the Relic of Knowledge, its formerly glowing chamber a dull grey. His right… “I was going to give it back to him,” Hazel explains as she takes The Long Memory’s handle from his right hand.</p><p>She shifts the weapon around in her palm so that she can get a better look at it. It’s dull, and there are new scratches along the handle that probably came from the attack yesterday. The poor thing definitely needs some TLC when they have the time.</p><p>She smiles softly. Ruby would enjoy taking it apart and polishing every tiny piece she could find.</p><p>Yang drops the smile and glances back up at Hazel. “Are you coming with us?” she asks, not bothering to hide the sharp edge to her voice.</p><p>The man shakes his head. “No,” he answers, turning towards the cells once more.</p><p>“You might want to figure it out soon,” Jaune says before Hazel can leave.</p><p>Yang glances back at him in surprise. He’s really telling <em>Hazel</em> after everything the man’s done to Oscar?</p><p>“Whatever it is that you want. Ironwood – he’s planning to sneak a bomb onboard and kill everyone here.”</p><p>Emerald’s entire body tenses. “You were going to tell us this when?” she asks angrily.</p><p>Neopolitan frowns and glares angrily at Jaune. She taps her head and begins furiously signing, shifting forms as she goes from Jaune, to Ironwood, to Cinder, to <em>Penny</em>, and then back to herself.</p><p>Yang gives up trying to parse any of that.</p><p>“I was going to say something once we got to the hangar,” Jaune admits. “There wasn’t ever really a good time –”</p><p>“You should go,” Hazel interrupts, his heavy voice washing away the bulk of the tension. “Get the lamp and the kid out of here.”</p><p>Yang pulls her scroll out of her pocket and checks the time as Hazel turns the next corner towards the cellblock. “Just over an hour until the Ace Ops get here with the bomb,” she informs the group.</p><p>Emerald’s face darkens. “We’re talking about this,” she snaps.</p><p>Neopolitan nods and points threateningly at Jaune, anger pouring from every part of her body.</p><p>Ren quickly jumps between Jaune and her finger. “We understand that we betrayed your trust,” he says with his hands raised. “We were wrong, and we’re sorry. But, if we stand here and talk about it, we might not be able to leave before the Ace Ops arrive.”</p><p>Neopilitan’s anger melts from her face but doesn’t entirely leave her small frame. She looks at Emerald and nods.</p><p>The other woman sighs. “Alright, follow me,” she says.</p><p>They actually manage to get quite a way further into the Grimm – almost four whole corridors! – before their next interruption presents itself.</p><p>Someone ahead of Yang moans softly, and Jaune murmurs, “Oscar?”</p><p>For the first time today, she feels a surge of relief. She runs up beside Jaune so that she can get a closer look…</p><p>…and all hell breaks loose.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Did I leave it on a cliffhanger? Yes. Do I care? Nope. Y'all got an extra 1k out of me.</p><p>Was originally going to have that last scene in Emerald's view in the next chapter, but it just wasn't writing the way I wanted it. Got an added bonus of a cliffie out of it, so I don't mind too terribly much.</p><p>You can interpret Neo's rant however you would like! (I'd love to hear some theories in the comments if anyone's got 'em!)</p><p>Feedback is always appreciated!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. HOE/Awake</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one in which the author manages to terrify herself.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, my update is on schedule and I'm so incredibly proud of myself because I actually rewrote this entire thing in the past... three hours? Geez. (It has gone through two rewrites so far. It is by far the most difficult chapter I have ever written. Period.)</p><p>But y'all, the love you give me lights a freaking fire under my ass and actually gets this done, so thank you all SO MUCH for the motivation.</p><p>Playlist Songs: Storm Comin' by The Wailin' Jennys</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Heartbeat pounding heavily in his ears, Oscar kicks, squirms, wriggles… <em>anything </em>to get away from the unfamiliar arms. Now that he’s given up the password, she doesn’t have any use for him anymore and <em>he’s not ready to die</em>.</p><p>“ –  p – n – g!”</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>The blow comes out of nowhere, hard, brutal, blinding. Ozpin is quite literally knocked aside, and Oscar finds himself back in control, for all the good it does him.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>“I c – t o – d h – !”</p><p>His foot connects with something, and there’s a startled yelp.</p><p>“M – e!”</p><p>Something wraps around his legs, pinning them together so that he can’t move them.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>He can feel more than see one of Hazel’s meaty hands firmly gripping both of his wrists.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He has to get away. To run. He can’t die here.</p><p><em>Can’t die. Can’t die. Can’t die</em>, his heartbeat pounds in agreement.</p><p>A soft, warm hand brushes against his forehead, and Oscar gasps at the touch. He jerks his head down and away from the unfamiliar touch, but it follows him, gently repeating the action over and over again. Slowly, the thundering in his ears begins to recede.</p><p>
  <em>Osc – ? Can – ear – e?</em>
</p><p>“He t – ld R – y it ca – ed him do – n.”</p><p>Cool metal touches his arms and familiar weight presses lightly on his stomach. He instinctively moves his hand to touch the object – though he can’t feel it properly, the simple knowledge that it’s there soothes him somewhat.</p><p>
  <em>Oscar? I need you to open your eyes for me. Can you do that?</em>
</p><p>“Shh,” a soft voice whispers, “we’ve got you.” It’s familiar, but the name is just out of reach.</p><p>Oscar wants desperately to lean away from the hand that’s petting him gently – it’s a trick, it has to be – but it’s the first kind thing anyone has done for him in what feels like forever. Whatever is wrapped around his legs vanishes, and he breathes a small sigh of relief. He’d thought Hazel had tied them up, too.</p><p>
  <em>Oscar, it’s okay. You can open your eyes now.</em>
</p><p>“We’re here, Oscar,” Yang soothes, “and we’re not leaving you again.”</p><p>He blinks once and hisses as light enters his eyes. He waits a second before trying again, and this time, his gaze meets soft violet eyes and warm blonde hair. “What took you guys so long?” he murmurs, letting his mouth quirk into a small smile.</p><p>The warmth Oscar’s cuddled against rumbles. “Well, our speeders crashed, and we got arrested,” Jaune says.</p><p>Oh, he’s in <em>Jaune’s</em> arms.</p><p>“Then we had to convince the Ace Ops to let us come in here and get you,” Yang continues, a small frown flitting across her face. A bright red mark dots her jawline, and Oscar squints at it to try and make out exactly what made it.</p><p>“What happened?” he asks.</p><p>She grins down at him. “You were having a panic attack and flailing around so much that Jaune was going to drop you, so I tried to grab your legs.” She rubs her jaw with one of her hands. “You kick <em>hard</em> for a kid.”</p><p>“Little cute boy Oz isn’t so cute anymore,” Jaune quips.</p><p>Oscar leans his head back to glare up at him, ignoring the way his shoulders burn at the movement. “I told you not to call me that.”</p><p>Jaune grins. “You told <em>Nora</em> not to call you that,” he replies cheerfully. “To everyone else, it’s fair game.”</p><p>“We’re just glad you’re awake, Oscar,” Ren says from somewhere by his feet. Oscar glances in his direction and is surprised to see him holding a loose arm around his shins.</p><p>Ren must have been the one holding them after he kicked Yang. Guilt stabs at his heart, sharp and pointed. They were trying to help him, and all he did was hurt them in return.</p><p><em>Oscar,</em> Ozpin comforts, <em>you’ve been through something traumatic. Your reaction to an unknown situation was only natural.</em></p><p>Something traumatic, huh? He closes his eyes and sighs. It seems like this entire <em>year</em> has been one traumatic incident after another. He’s just lucky…</p><p><em>The lamp</em>, he realizes. He gave up the password to the lamp. <em>Salem has the lamp and the question.</em> Cold horror washes over him, and he trembles heavily in Jaune’s arms.</p><p>“Whoa, Oscar?”</p><p>“I can’t leave yet. I – I gave him the password. I told him about Jinn!” Hot tears clash with cutting cold. “There’s still one more question and Salem can get the Beacon relic and <em>I’m sorry</em>.” How could he have been so <em>stupid </em>and <em>naïve</em>? He tries to curl himself further into a ball and disappear as he blubbers, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m –”</p><p>A hand strokes his hair in a soothing gesture. “Hey,” Yang says softly, “you did what you had to. If it came down to you or the relic, I’d pick you every time.”</p><p>“We all would,” Jaune adds. “You’re our friend. We care about <em>you</em>, not some stupid relic.”</p><p>Oscar can feel the tears welling up once more for an entirely different reason as he whispers, “Thank you,” into Jaune’s chest. He’s grateful when Jaune pulls him closer so that Oscar can at least cry into his armor rather than out in the open.</p><p>He’s part of the team. <em>Him</em>. Not Ozpin.</p><p>A few simple words, and he’s a blubbering mess. How embarrassing.</p><p>Ozpin’s amusement prods at Oscar’s mind. <em>I believe this is the part where I say, “Just don’t make us do anything embarrassing.”</em></p><p>Oscar snorts, which startles a wave of coughing from his chest. He hacks and heaves, his chest and throat burning. His arms twitch feebly on his chest, and he can feel something warm leaking from his mouth.</p><p>“Oscar?” Jaune cries.</p><p>Oscar pulls himself away from Jaune’s chest and cracks his eyes open. Bright red spatters streak across the white armor. Blood. <em>His </em>blood. His vision blurs, and he unwillingly lets out a soft whimper as needles jab at his head.</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt the team bonding here,” an unfamiliar voice says just beyond Yang, who moves ever so slightly so that Oscar can see its source, “but, kid, you don’t need to worry about the last question. We used it.” Oscar blinks as Emerald comes up behind Yang and stares down at him with a mix of annoyance and apathy. “You were right,” she says simply before turning away.</p><p>He was – oh. <em>Oh. </em>Well, that’s a relief.</p><p>“And we got something for you!” Yang exclaims. She reaches into a pocket and produces <em>The Long Memory</em>.</p><p>Something in Oscar <em>breaks </em>at the sight of it; something wet pools at the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t had a chance to use it during the Hound’s brutal attack, and it had disappeared along with the rest of his belongings when he’d awakened in his cell. He’d thought he’d never see it again.</p><p><em>We would have built you a new one</em>, Ozpin informs him.</p><p>He smiles softly at her in gratitude. <em>It wouldn’t be the same.</em></p><p>She holds it out to him. He tries desperately to move his arms – to reach for his weapon and the comfort of its silver handle with the knowledge that he <em>isn’t </em>weak or powerless – but his muscles fail him and twitch uselessly.</p><p>He feels Jaune’s arms tense beneath him. “Is something wrong with your arms?” Jaune asks.</p><p>“He was hanging from his wrists at some point. He might have some muscle and nerve damage,” Ren supplies.</p><p>“I-It’s fine,” Oscar stammers, uncomfortable with the attention. He can feel the burn of embarrassment creeping up his neck and cheeks. “Yang, maybe you should just hold onto it for me.”</p><p>Yang’s mouth drops into a small unhappy frown as she tucks the weapon back into her pocket. She moves aside as Ren takes her position.</p><p>He remains expressionless as he lifts one of Oscar’s arms, then the other, his eyes carefully taking in the way Oscar’s wrists dangle limply. The elder huntsman manipulates unresponsive fingers and finally says, “We need to splint these.”</p><p>“With what?” Yang asks. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t have a secret stash of medical supplies hidden away somewhere.”</p><p>Jaune shifts beneath him. “If you have something to tie them, parts of my armor might work,” he murmurs. “Maybe my elbow pads?”</p><p>Ren nods. “I have support tape. That <em>should</em> be sufficient.” He glances down at Oscar. “Letting the muscles do as they please might injure them further and lengthen your recovery,” he explains. His tone is clinical and precise – the kind of tone he uses during training when one of them, usually Oscar, forgets their aura and needs to let things heal naturally – but his eyes tell a different story. Sadness and guilt flicker behind pale pink, and Oscar finds himself wondering exactly what his team went through in the past… however long it’s been since he’s been here.</p><p>It takes some awkward shifting and careful manipulation, but it doesn’t take Ren very long to put the make-shift splints in place. The only real hiccup is when he brings out the roll of tape, and Oscar has to squeeze his eyes shut – <strong><em>Hazel is silent as he deftly wraps the bindings around his wrists</em></strong> – so as not to panic at the sight of white gauze binding him <em>again</em>.</p><p>When he’s done, Ren pats him gently on the arm. “That’s all I can do for now,” he says.</p><p>Oscar stares down at the wrappings and tries to calm the queasy feeling in his stomach. They lay snug around each wrist but nowhere near as tight as Hazel’s.</p><p><em>He did well,</em> Ozpin praises. <em>His basic medical skills and knowledge of muscle health came in handy for JNPR in their early days.</em></p><p>“Great. Can we get going?” Emerald calls from where she’s keeping watch. “I’d like to get out of here before Ironwood blows this place sky high.”</p><p>Oscar patiently waits for Jaune to lower him to the floor so he can begin walking, but Jaune starts moving without any indication that he’s planning on letting Oscar do anything. “I can walk,” Oscar protests weakly. The group probably needs all of its fighters, and Jaune can’t do anything with dead weight in his arms.</p><p>Jaune doesn’t spare him a glance. “You’re injured. We’ll move faster like this, and you won’t be in danger of hurting yourself even more,” he explains. “We have four extra hands. We can spare two for you.”</p><p><em>Four </em>extra hands?</p><p>Oscar cranes his neck so that he can see the people at the front of the group. The first thing he sees is Ren’s back, but just beyond him…</p><p><em>Neopolitan?</em> He blinks in surprise. <em>That’s </em>a new development. Last time he’d seen her was the throne room, and both she and Emerald were on the other end of the lineup.</p><p>The only person he’s had the chance to actually speak with is Hazel. He swallows his disappointment and sighs. He’d hoped that his efforts to turn the man were successful, but it seems as though that was another failure on his part.</p><p><em>I told you, Hazel is wounded in a way that cannot be healed</em>, Ozpin says sadly. <em>You did your best, and it seemed as though you were getting to him in the end.</em></p><p><em>I just wish I had more time,</em> Oscar murmurs. <em>Maybe you were right – I shouldn’t have told him about Jinn.</em></p><p><em>Emerald said they used the last question, </em>Ozpin reminds him. <em>Hazel’s choice was his own, but, at the very least, he took that opportunity from Salem.</em></p><p>Oscar sighs and settles into Jaune's arms as best he can. He has a lot of things to be grateful for; he should count this as a victory.</p><p>The hollow feeling in his chest aches.</p><p>It doesn’t feel like one.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Get the lamp and the kid out of here.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Hazel stares into the small cell. Remnants of its prisoner lay about – spatters of blood, the hook, torn bandages – reminders of what he’s done in the past day. He’s been asking for this for so long: chance to go after Ozpin, to teach him not to play with other people’s lives, to finally have <em>vengeance</em>.</p><p>But the boy… He looks down at his hands. The support tape carefully wrapped around his wrists and under his gauntlets is more reddish brown than white at this point, but he hasn’t had the time to change it. It doesn’t help that the spare roll of tape he normally keeps in his pocket is currently in tatters on the floor.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>She pushed you to think it would help you.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>More reminders.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Well, has it?</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Vengeance isn’t as sweet as they say.</p><p>“Just the man I was looking for,” a silky voice says behind him.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>The path to your desires is only found through me.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He turns slowly. “Lady Salem,” he acknowledges, dropping to a respectful kneel with his head bowed, “how may I help you?”</p><p>He should be frightened right now, pleading for mercy, for forgiveness. The door is open, and she <em>will</em> see that it is empty. She will know what he’s done.</p><p>But Hazel isn’t frightened.</p><p>A smooth, gentle hand cups his cheek and slowly slides down his face to rest beneath his chin. It slowly lifts his head so that he’s looking directly into her glimmering crimson eyes. “I came to see how our guest was faring,” she says with a sweet smile. The hand tightens around his jaw.</p><p>Searing pain rips and rakes against his skin, and his semblance activates on instinct. The pain numbs into a slight tingling sensation; the danger remains.  “I’m sure that your persuasion has worked <em>wonders</em> for his cooperation.”</p><p>The hand pulls back, but Hazel doesn’t drop his head. He opens his mouth – <em>no, it really hasn’t but yes it has and you </em>lied <em>to me </em>–</p><p>The floor beneath him glows blood-red and cold claws grasp him, tearing, yanking, <em>forcing </em>him down into the murky pool waiting at his feet. His knee collapses so that he’s kneeling before her. The inky-black hand wrapped dangerously around his neck constricts and slams his head against Monstra’s tough surface. The force is enough that his vision whites spectacularly upon impact. He can feel the hands scrabble against his legs, pull at his wrists, claw at his legs and his back, clutch at his mouth…</p><p>“In fact, it has worked so well that you decided to help him in return,” she says, her voice harsh and cold. The hands tighten all at once, and for a few truly frightening moments, Hazel can’t breathe.</p><p>Instinct takes over as his body panics. His fingers claw at the ground, digging for an escape that they will not find. His heartbeat hammers in his chest; his muscles strain as he struggles for any give that the Grimm hands encasing him will allow. His nostrils flare as they seek something, <em>anything</em>, to fill their body’s needs.</p><p>“I felt it when you activated the lamp.” The hand around his neck eases just enough for him to breathe, and he gasps for precious oxygen. He may not feel the way his lungs scream from the abuse, but the feeling, the <em>terror</em>, is still there. “Was your question worth the <em>pain</em> that I will put you through? Was it worth defying your <em>queen</em>?”</p><p>She moves, her footsteps tapping lightly on the floor as she steps around him. He tracks her feet out of the corner of his eye and notes the moment they vanish behind him.</p><p>“I told you, once, that the moment you put your desires before my own, they will be lost to you.”</p><p>The hands slam him into the ground once more. He wheezes as the wind flees his lungs.</p><p>“But,” she says, the sweetness returning, “if you help me retrieve my <em>dear</em> Ozma and my lamp, I will show you mercy.” The hands lift him back onto his knees and hold him as he struggles to regain his balance. “Now that the last question is gone, I will need his help to retrieve the Beacon relic. If you perform well, I will allow you to continue your efforts to ascertain its location.”</p><p>The hand on his mouth falls away; he looks up into her eyes.</p><p>Cold, vicious, fury is all that he finds in them.</p><p>“Will you help me?” she asks, pulling her face close to his.</p><p>He takes a moment to drop his eyes to the floor in humble submission. The Grimm grasping at his body loosen just slightly, and his hand slips into one of his pockets.</p><p>“No,” Hazel declares. He pulls his left arm – the one that’s not tucked away – back as if winding for a punch. Salem yanks her head back out of range. A wave of her hand and the Grimm wrench his arm to the ground.</p><p>She snarls. “Then <em>die</em>,” she commands. The arms around him tighten.</p><p>He chokes as one blocks his windpipe, but this time, he has a way to fight back. As the Grimm holding his right arm yanks his hand out of his pocket to join the other one on the ground, Hazel allows the dust crystal in his hand to shatter upon impact with the brick-colored floor. Yellow sparks dance beneath his legs. The smell of burnt skin wafts into his nose.</p><p>Salem howls in agony, and her red sigil shatters. The hands on his body vanish with it. She stumbles backward, which gives him enough room to stand to his full height and step out of the doorway.</p><p>He shoves his hands into his pockets and pulls out two red dust crystals. With little fanfare, he thrusts them into his biceps. His entire body crackles with red electricity; loud humming rings in his ears. His semblance launches into overdrive as power lances through his body. Muscles <em>screaming</em>, he takes one step, then another.</p><p>“You die,” he growls, slamming his hands on either side of her head. Her body collapses into a pile of goo, and Hazel glances down the corridor. He could go after them. He could <em>help</em> them.</p><p>A soft bubbling sound reaches his ears.</p><p>Or he could stay and keep her away for as long as possible.</p><p>The goo materializes a leg.</p><p>Hazel takes one last look into the cell behind him, lets out a hefty sigh, and waits.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>If Salem finds them before they can escape, Emerald is deader than Torchwick.</p><p>She resists the urge to glance back at the kid gently nestled in Arc’s arms. It was little more than an hour ago when she’d last seen him, and while he didn’t exactly look <em>great</em>, he was at least able to stand under his own power.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>She’d have just killed you if you didn’t just pop up somewhere else.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Even from behind a closed door, the words had sent a shiver down her spine.</p><p><em>We can’t kill you</em>, the words didn’t say, <em>but we’ll make sure you get as close as possible.</em></p><p>But despite all of that, she doesn’t owe him anything.</p><p>What the <em>hell </em>is she doing?</p><p>Emerald worries at her lip as another Seer appears at the end of the corridor. She signals with a hand and activates her semblance so that the entire group vanishes. This is the third Seer that they’ve come across in as much as ten minutes. They shouldn’t be coming out this far. Seers patrol around the throne room and the cell block – the more sensitive areas of Monstra. The rest of the ship houses Beowolves and Ursas.</p><p>Something is <em>wrong</em>.</p><p><em>Keep your cool, Emerald,</em> the thief inside of her whispers, <em>you’re getting close.</em></p><p>And they are, really. It should only be about another five minutes before they reach the hangar. Then, it’s just a matter of stealing an airship and getting the heck out of dodge. From there… She drops her semblance and ushers the group along.</p><p>She finds Cinder.</p><p><em>And what about them? </em>Some tiny part of her asks. <em>The kid needs help, and they don’t know about Amity.</em></p><p>Would she really help them get out and then drop them off somewhere?</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>H-He’s panicking! I can’t hold him!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>She recalls the incident from earlier. The Arc kid frantically trying to soothe the squirming boy in his arms. Yang’s soft crooning. Greenie’s protective glare as he put his body between them and his charge.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>I know what it looks like when people care for each other.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>The gentle care Greenie used when splinting the kid’s wrists.</p><p>
  <strong><em>She pulls at Cinder’s remaining arm and rubs some of Mercury’s burn cream into the wound before carefully wrapping it in gauze. Her mentor’s massive aura will heal the burns quickly, but she needs to do </em>something <em>and this… makes her feel useful again.</em></strong>
</p><p>Hazel’s voice rings in her head, <strong><em>She doesn’t care about you the way </em>you <em>care about her.</em></strong></p><p>What does <em>he </em>know anyway? Their relationship has always been unconventional, and Emerald knows that it doesn’t rely on <em>weakness</em> and <em>comfort</em> to function. She grits her teeth and huffs. She just needs to get out of here and away from them. Then everything will be alright again.</p><p>She almost sobs in relief when they finally get to the last turn. From here, it’s a straight shot down the corridor and out into the open hangar. She turns the corner quickly, more quickly than she should have, and comes face to face with a massive Beowulf.</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>“Get down!” someone shouts, and Emerald doesn’t need to be told twice. She ducks beneath a massive paw and dives to the side of the corridor.</p><p>There’s a loud blast as Yang launches herself at the Grimm, one arm pulled back in a fist. She punches the Beowulf directly across the snout, and it collapses to the ground. A quick flip in midair brings her foot down on its head.</p><p>The fight is over almost as quickly as it had begun.</p><p>Harsh growling echoes in the stale air. Emerald’s attention snaps to her right. Her stomach churns painfully as she sees what looks to be <em>dozens</em> of ferocious Grimm staring at the small group of very breakable humans. She stands on shaky legs and stumbles to rejoin her party; they’ve moved a little further into the corridor by this point.</p><p>The fight isn’t over, she realizes as a second pack seems to appear out of nowhere from around the corner.</p><p>“Dear <em>Emerald</em>,” the voice from her nightmares says sweetly, “after everything I’ve done for you and your mistress, and this is how you repay me?”</p><p>She’s shaking, she realizes belatedly. Her mouth goes completely dry, and she wants desperately to run. To get away. To fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness. To plead for her life because she <em>knows </em>she’s dead.</p><p>Salem, in all her glory, steps out from a pool of shadow.</p><p>“And <em>Neopolitan</em>,” she continues, “I gave you a place despite your sponsor’s shoddy work and disrespect.” She smiles sweetly. “Well, I know how to respond in turn. Don’t worry,” she tuts, one of her hands reaching out to caress a particularly large Beowulf, “for your faithful service up to this point, I will grant you swift deaths.”</p><p>The witch looks around at her Grimm, the smile swiftly slipping from her face. “Kill all of them except the boy,” she orders. “Make it as painful as possible.”</p><p>Before Emerald can react, the horde on both sides surges forward, and she’s launched into a fight for her life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahem, so, I've been informed that perhaps a timeline might be appropriate. So here goes:</p><p>2hrs 25min before bomb (BB): JYR makes plan to infiltrate Monstra</p><p>2hrs BB: JYR enters Monstra, OO inventory, EH argue</p><p>1hr 50min BB: THE QUESTION (which, conveniently, freezes time)</p><p>1hr 45min BB: OO breaks ties/has convo/falls unconscious, JYR wandering, Hazel broods (and does whatever the heck he does)</p><p>1hr 43min BB: EN Convo</p><p>1hr 35min BB: JRYEN team up</p><p>1hr 28min BB: Poor baby O</p><p>1hr 15min BB: ORENJY runs into Hazel</p><p>1hr 5min BB: Salem and Hazel... talk, Oscar freakout</p><p>25min BB: ORENJY v Salem</p><p>I hope it helps give some time frame as to when everything is happening! (and part of me is really hoping giving definite times to everything wasn't a mistake I will regret later) I try to keep everything as concurrent as I possibly can, so most chapters when people are separate everything happening is generally around the same time (HOE/Find/Truth/and Awake are all good examples for the most part, though Find/Truth can be a little wonky). The timeline is mostly to keep track of when JRY and HOE are doing things, because their stuff isn't written to be at the same time. However, now that everyone sans Hazel is on a team together things are SO MUCH easier to keep straight.</p><p>On another note: SALEM IS A FRIGGIN PAIN IN THE BUTT TO WRITE YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Trying to put myself into the mindset to actually write her scenes is so... ugh. It's a weird mix of terror and sweetness and by the end of my rewrite I wanted to hop in the shower and scrub myself clean because I felt so ICKY. Ugh. And I have to write her now. Why do I do this to myself?</p><p>OKAY LAST THING: I'm driving from Texas to Virginia starting on Thursday so I can move back into my dorm for the beginning of my second term. I'm not entirely thrilled about this development - I got my move in date on Monday and am scrambling - but it's what it is. So, the next update might be somewhat delayed and I apologize in advance. I will either update Sunday evening or sometime on Monday of next week. (Or, if I'm incredibly lucky, before then on my regular Friday, but I'm not holding my breath.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ENRJY/Sacrifice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The battle within Monstra rages on, but who will come out on top? And will the price of victory be too much to bear?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm so late, I apologize profusely. No matter how much I planned and blocked this chapter, I STILL had trouble writing it. Fight scenes, man. Not my forte.</p><p>BUT</p><p>I also spoiled y'all. 8,500k (almost TRIPLE a normal chapter), 25 pages, and a new character perspective.</p><p>So, it balances? Maybe?</p><p>Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated, especially with this monster.</p><p>Also changed my username - Lost a bet with my sister and had to change my name to a play off of Dante's Inferno (which is basically self-insert fanfiction where Dante gets to meet all his heroes, get told how great a guy he is by them, and then he gets to torture ALL the people he doesn't like - all the bad fanfic tropes, lol.)</p><p>EDIT: Playlist Songs -</p><p>BRILLIANT by Shinedown, Under Your Spell by The Sweeplings, Fight Like a Girl by Diamante, and The Great Divide by Breaking Benjamin (in that order)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Move.</em>
</p><p>Ren performs a swift strike to the first Grimm within his reach. It stumbles back, giving him enough time to fire a bullet into its chest.</p><p>
  <em>Keep moving.</em>
</p><p>An Ursa lunges at his head. He sidesteps and swipes at it with <em>Stormflower</em>. His blade connects with its neck and the creature dissolves into nothing. He grimaces as two more Ursa bear down upon him. There isn’t enough <em>space</em> for his fighting style, not with this many Grimm in an enclosed environment.</p><p>Not with Jaune and Oscar defenseless behind him.</p><p>A series of shots fire from his left and the two Ursa along with a Beowolf vanish. He glances over at Emerald and nods in thanks before diving into the new opening she’s created for them.</p><p>He loses himself in a sea of black ink, striking out with hands, feet, <em>Stormflower</em>… Yet, as Grimm after Grimm falls, he feels as though he’s <em>losing </em>ground rather than gaining it. He can see the corridor’s exit just beyond his opponents, but getting there?</p><p>A particularly nasty looking Beowolf swipes at his feet. Ren leaps backward and clamps down on his frustration when the writhing mass swallows their tiny amount of headway with ferocious claws and snapping teeth.</p><p>He steels himself for another attempt, but Emerald places herself firmly in his path and cuts down the Beowolf. She sends him a look, <em>cover me</em>, as she takes his place. Her sickles swing outward on their chains, whistling as they slice through thick Grimm hides like they’re made of paper. He fires rounds at the few Beowolves that have managed to escape her attacks.</p><p>Even with their combined efforts, they’ve barely made a dent in the black mass. He scowls and stabs an Ursa that has somehow snuck through their defenses. Something needs to change.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>With the Grimm horde bearing down upon them and no way to properly fight them off, Jaune does the only thing he can: drop into a crouch and press Oscar tightly to his chest. He lets the boy’s lower half rest on the floor and extends his shield in preparation for anything that might break through the party’s loose protective circle.</p><p>“S-She wants me,” Oscar murmurs beneath him. Jaune feels something press against his chest, and he glances down to see his friend pushing weakly against the white armor. Wide hazel eyes stare up at him in desperation. “You heard her. Just, just hand me over. She might spare you.”</p><p>Jaune’s blood turns to ice in his veins. He glares down at the boy in his arms and pulls him tighter. “No,” he says fiercely, “you’re not some <em>bargaining chip</em>. You’re our <em>friend</em>.” He winces as an Ursa slams Yang into the wall. Neopolitan quickly steps in and forces the Grimm back with a few jabs of her parasol. “We’ve come this far for you,” he says, turning his attention back to his charge. “We’re not leaving you behind.”</p><p>“I don’t want to watch you <em>die</em>!” Oscar exclaims. He kicks at the ground with his feet and squirms against Jaune’s hold. “I’m not…” His struggles cease as he slumps against his chest. “I’m not worth dying for,” he whispers. “Oz will move on and you –”</p><p>Jaune stares at him incredulously. “Oscar,” he interrupts, his heart breaking when the boy’s breath hitches, “I don’t know where any of this is coming from, but we’re going to have a long talk when we get out of here.”</p><p>“Jaune! Shield!” Ren calls from his left.</p><p>He barely has time to pull up his arm before a heavy black mass rams itself into his shield. He activates the gravity dust enhancement and breathes a sigh of relief when the Grimm flies back into the battle.</p><p>With the danger mostly gone, Jaune drops his arm and glances back down at Oscar with what he hopes is reassurance. “Let us handle this,” he says. “You just worry about yourself.”</p><p>“Incoming!”</p><p>Another Ursa breaks through the circle from the right, and Jaune twists painfully to catch it with his shield before it can attack. A burst of gravity dust launches it into the air so that Neopolitan, her blade waiting, is able to spear it directly through its back.</p><p>He worries at his shield’s handhold as Yang tries to leap over a Grimm only to have another snag her foot and slam her into the ground. They’re at a disadvantage in more than just numbers. Yang’s fighting style requires close quarters combat, but she still needs space to move and gain momentum. The overwhelming number of opponents and tight dimensions of the corridor, not to mention his and Oscar’s predicament, keeps her on the defensive – a place she’s admitted she’s not comfortable.</p><p>He hasn’t seen Neopolitan’s parasol open <em>once</em> during the battle, which tells him that she’s having similar problems.</p><p>He turns to Ren and Emerald. They’ve been doing well so far. Both of them have a variety of attacks that seem to synergize, but he can tell that their lack of familiarity with each other is holding them back. It doesn’t help that the restrictive environment prevents them from using their usual hit and run tactics.</p><p>He needs to change the narrative.</p><p>“How long can you hold out, <em>children</em>?” Salem calls from her place at the end of the corridor. Jaune pushes her voice out of his head. <em>Don’t listen to her.</em> “How much more can you take?”</p><p>He needs…</p><p>The idea slowly unfurls in his mind.</p><p>He needs Ren, his last charge of gravity dust, and a <em>lot</em> of luck.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Ren,” Jaune calls, “I need you.”</p><p>He glances at Emerald.</p><p>She nods. “Go, I can handle this.”</p><p>Ren turns away from the battle and rushes to Jaune’s side. The blonde drops his shield and gathers Oscar in his arms before he stands. “I need you to take him,” he says. “Then I need you to do what we did with Yang earlier and get him away from the fight.” Jaune sighs. “If I’m right, it should give the rest of us a chance.”</p><p>Ren nods, collapsing <em>Stormflower </em>so that his hands are free.</p><p>“Jaune, Jaune <em>no</em>,” Oscar whimpers as Jaune transfers him into Ren’s arms. “Don’t do this. You can’t –”</p><p>Jaune looks directly into Ren’s eyes, and Ren can’t help but notice the way his petals swirl in patterns of sea-green and crimson. <em>Determination. Anger. </em>“No matter what he says, you can’t let them have him,” Jaune orders. “Keep him out of her hands.”</p><p>“Jaune –”</p><p>“I understand,” Ren responds. He feels Oscar tense in his arms, and he wonders exactly what happened to cause this surge of emotion in his leader. “On my mark?”</p><p>“Whenever you’re ready,” Jaune replies, holding <em>Crocea Mars </em>in front of him at an angle.</p><p>He squeezes Oscar gently. “Don’t move, it’ll be over soon,” he murmurs to the boy, ignoring his weak protests. He nods at Jaune and breaks into a sprint. He only has three feet to work with, but he’s fairly certain it will be enough. Once he’s close enough, he leaps onto the shield and uses it as a springboard to launch himself into the air. The mixture of gravity dust and his own momentum catapults him over the Grimm and further into the corridor.</p><p>With Oscar in his arms, he can’t deploy his usual landing strategy. Instead, he twists around so that his back and a concentrated burst of aura are the first parts of him to hit the floor, rather than his stomach or the bundle in his arms.</p><p>As Ren pulls himself to his feet, he hears, “After them! I want the boy alive.”</p><p>Oscar shudders and buries his face in Ren’s chest.</p><p>Half the forces on his side of the corridor turn away from the group of huntsmen and set their sights on him.</p><p><em>Ah,</em> Ren thinks as he races down the corridor toward the large opening at its end, <em>that’s what he meant.</em></p><p>Well, if it’s a distraction Jaune wants… He drops his semblance, ignoring the stab of pain just behind his eyes. The world bursts into color. He reaches deep into himself for the familiar void of emotion he’s had since he was a child. It shies from his touch like a wounded animal, but he pushes forward, forcefully grasping the void so that it cannot escape once more.</p><p>Tranquility activates; he feels his mind numb.</p><p>He can provide a distraction.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaune feels the tension in his chest ease when the Grimm horde in front of him suddenly looks much thinner than five seconds ago. Ren has a monumental task ahead of him – <em>the world’s most important game of keep away, </em>his mind supplies sardonically – but if they can push the wall of Grimm down the corridor and out into the open…</p><p><em>Hang on, Ren</em>, he pleads. He thrusts his shield into the path of an oncoming Grimm, aiming just beneath its neck and throwing the entirety of his bodyweight behind the strike. The weapon catches it in the chest at an angle, and the combination of its forward momentum and the shield’s angle sends it flying into the air above his head. Before it can get too far, he jabs his sword into its underbelly. The creature howls brokenly and dissolves into ash. <em>We’re coming.</em></p><p>Jaune extends the shield’s hard light wings and <em>pushes</em>. The motion shoves the three closest Grimm further down the hallway. Dust shots fire above and around him; they hit their targets, and three more Grimm that were just about to get around his barrier go down faster than he can react.</p><p>“Keep going, Arc,” Emerald orders. “I’ll keep them off of you.” Four more shots whistle through the air above his head. “Xiao Long! Neopolitan!”</p><p>His arms and legs ache under the constant pressure from the Grimm. Each slow step he takes is <em>agony</em>, but its progress.</p><p><em>One more step</em>.</p><p>His legs shake. Hot, foul breath blows against his face. His shoulders are on fire. He steps with his left foot.</p><p>
  <em>One more step.</em>
</p><p>Sharp claws rake against his shield. <em>SCREECH.</em> He steps with his right.</p><p><em>One more step.</em> </p><p>A salty metallic taste washes over his tongue. The inside of his cheek stings. Something warm and wet drips from his brow. Left foot.</p><p>
  <em>One… more…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Step.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p>Yang ducks as a massive paw swipes at her head. She returns fire with an uppercut to its jaw. The creature flies backward, knocking a few of its comrades off kilter before it dissolves into nothing.</p><p>She grits her teeth. For every Grimm they kill, three more seem to pop up in its place. The lamp thumps heavily against her leg.</p><p>And through it all, Salem stands just beyond the black wall, her face a mask of cool indifference. She’s waving her arms over a black pool. Every few seconds, something new crawls from its depths – an Ursa, a Sabyr, a Beowulf, anything that can fight effectively in this space. Every once in a while, she’ll glance up at them with a contemptuous expression that screams ‘What? You’re not dead yet?’ and then go back to her summoning.</p><p><em>She could at least be angry</em>, Yang notes bitterly. <em>Or gloating. Or… something. </em>At this rate, she feels like more of an afterthought, a mere annoyance.</p><p>It’s enough to <em>piss her off</em>.</p><p>Yang rolls to the side as an Ursa comes barreling down upon her. She lands in a crouch and leaps into the air, inverting herself so that her shotguns are pointed directly at its head. It takes two shots, but they do the trick. She lands almost in the same position where she’d started and fires three more bullets into the throng.</p><p>Neopolitan gestures for Yang to take a step back before thrusting her open parasol into a Sabyr’s face.</p><p>Everything about this situation rails against Yang’s instincts. Each small step backward feels like a retreat. <em>The enemy is </em>right <em>there</em>, the brawler inside of her screams. <em>Fight her! Beat her! Make her </em>pay!</p><p>But the protector, the fierce big sister, the warrior who would go to <em>war</em> for her family, whispers, <em>You’re not running from anything.</em></p><p>See, the problem with running is that a lot of people have things they’re running <em>from</em>. Raven ran, and still runs, from family and true connections. Qrow runs from his semblance. Ozpin runs from his failures. Blake from her guilt. Herself from her trauma.</p><p>Yang throws a brutal right hook at an Ursa that’s taken advantage of her retreat. Its head knocks into the side of a nearby Beowolf, and the two Grimm fly past Neopolitan and into the wall.</p><p><em>This time, </em>the protector soothes as she takes first one step, then another, <em>you’re running to.</em></p><p>To Oscar. To Ren. To Jaune, Ruby, Blake, Weiss, Nora, Penny, Qrow… <em>Family.</em></p><p><em>And that</em>, she thinks as she punches a series of remote rounds into a Grimm, <em>makes all the difference</em>. She performs one last punch – a brutal fist meant to launch rather than destroy – and sends it back into the horde. She tries not to celebrate too much when the resulting blast vaporizes not one, not two, but <em>five </em>Grimm at once.</p><p>She glances up, hoping that her move has captured the attentions of Salem.</p><p>Yang’s heart stops.</p><p>
  <em>Where is she?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Sorry,” he murmurs to the boy in his arms as he leaps onto a nearby platform. He gets a soft whimper in response. “I know this isn’t very comfortable.”</p><p>A Beringel – one with <em>wings </em>– soars above his head and lands just to his left. Its glowing red eyes scan the area, passing directly over the two humans without pause. It paws at the ground and does another careful sweep before it leaps back into the sky.</p><p>The pain in Ren’s head is back and more present than ever. It throbs just behind his eyes, pounding against his skull in time with his heartbeat.</p><p>He leaps to the next platform just as a small pack of Sabyrs come upon his and Oscar’s position. His semblance can trick them well enough, but that won’t stop their noses from picking up the scent of badly injured human.</p><p>Oscar shivers in his arms. “They’re getting closer,” he notes quietly. “And we’re running out of space.”</p><p>Ren hates to admit it, but Oscar is right. They <em>are </em>running out of places to run.</p><p>The hangar isn’t like anything he’s ever seen. Five long triangular platforms jut from Monstra’s side into the open air with a think walkway connecting them to each other and the hangar’s exit. The larger Grimm – Ursa, Beowolves – patrol along the thin surface. Every once in a while, one of them will step out a platform but hiss and retreat moments later.</p><p>They worry him somewhat, but the patrolling Sabyrs and flying Beringels are the bigger threat. Unlike their counterparts, the Sabyrs aren’t nearly as cautious of the platforms. They travel in a small group of four and methodically work their way from platform to platform. Meanwhile, Beringels periodically leave the raging aerial battle outside to make a sweep through the hangar.</p><p>It’s in those moments that he has to pause and wait for them to fly away before he can jump again; he has to wait while the Sabyrs get ever closer – <em>too close</em> – to their prize.</p><p>Ren leaps to another platform, using a concentrated burst of aura to propel himself across eight feet of empty air. When he lands, he concentrates his aura into his feet to create tiny cushions that take a majority of the impact. Normally, he’d roll upon landing to spread the force more evenly throughout his body, but he can’t do that both because of Oscar and the very limited amount of surface area he has available to him. Three of the five platforms hold an airship, which takes up a large amount of space.</p><p>He’s thought about sneaking aboard and escaping with Oscar, but he can’t leave without his team and he’s never actually <em>flown </em>an airship. Oscar – well, <em>Professor Ozpin</em> – has. The odds of him managing to fly them out of here vanished when Hazel…</p><p>A Beringel lands too close for comfort.</p><p>The quartet of Sabyrs step onto the platform, <em>their platform</em>. The creatures prowl down its gangway, noses low to the ground.</p><p>Ren slowly skirts around the airship in front of him so that he’s on the other side of the platform away from the Beringel’s searching gaze. He tenses, ready to make the next leap as soon as it leaves…</p><p>The Grimm opens its black, inky wings and launches itself off the platform’s edge. The Sabyrs are close; they sniff along the back side of the airship, and Ren can hear the low growl that signals they’ve found something worth investigating. He takes four long strides toward the walkway to put some distance between them.</p><p>He takes a deep breath. This jump will be a little father – the gangways get thinner the closer they are to the walkway, and he’s only three feet away – but his aura reserves <em>should </em>be able to handle the extra foot. He leaps –</p><p>Only to fall to the floor when something hooks around his ankle.</p><p>His concentration <em>snaps</em>. His semblance and aura vanish. He feels something in his right ankle <em>pop</em>; pain races through his leg. The throbbing in his head bursts into sharp, searing <em>agony</em>. He can’t stifle the cry of pain that slips from his lips.</p><p>Oscar flies from his arms and lands hard on his side just a few inches out of Ren’s reach. The boy lets out a weak cry.</p><p>He… he has to get…</p><p>Drums pounding in his ears, Ren claws at the floor in the hopes of yanking his foot out of whatever has it in a vice-like grip, but all he accomplishes is sending further waves of pain through his body. He steals a glance at the thing holding him and feels a wave of nausea roll through his stomach. A large, lanky <em>Grimm hand</em> has its inhumanly long fingers wrapped around his ankle.</p><p>Slowly, two more hands come up to join it. They wrap around his shin.</p><p>Then he feels hot, acrid air blow against the back of his head.</p><p>A set of paws enter his vision. He cranes his head up to see one of the Sabyrs from earlier grip the back of Oscar’s jacket in its powerful jaws. It lifts the boy’s torso from the ground without any trouble and begins to drag him off in the direction of the walkway like a piece of meat. The other three Sabyrs follow silently.</p><p>He growls, struggling against the hands and their grip and the <em>pain</em>… His vision whites for a moment as fire races through his veins.</p><p>“Your semblance can fool my pets,” <em>she </em>says, her voice a strange mix of honey and <em>venom</em>.</p><p>Through the haze, he sees a black and white figure standing at the end of the gangway. He squints in an attempt to make the vision somewhat less blurry. His eyes throb in protest at the motion.</p><p>The Sabyr holding Oscar finally reaches her and drops the boy on the floor at her feet.</p><p>Salem reaches down and gently pats the Grimm on the head. Ren’s vision clears just enough to get a proper look at her face. She smiles sweetly, but her eyes exude such contempt and malice that her overall expression connotes something much more sinister.</p><p>“But you can’t fool <em>me</em>.”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>“She’s gone!” Yang shouts over the sound of scratching claws and gnashing teeth. “Salem, she’s just –”</p><p>Emerald grits her teeth and fires another volley into the writhing black mass threatening to spill over Arc’s shield. They’re making good progress – another five feet and they’ll be out in the open – but they’re not moving fast enough.</p><p>“She teleported,” Emerald responds, her mind working through the implications which are… not good. She steals a quick look at the end of the corridor despite knowing that she won’t be able to see anything going on beyond the opening just yet. “She’s probably going after Greenie and the kid herself.”</p><p>Arc takes another trembling step forward, then another. Sweat drips from his brow; his hair is practically matted with the stuff. The strained grimace on his face curls down into a severe frown. “We can’t,” he groans. Another step. “Let him fight.” He growls, leans back, and <em>shoves</em>. Three more steps. Two more feet. “<em>Alone</em>.”</p><p>Emerald frowns. “On that,” she mutters, firing as many shots as she dares into the crowd of Grimm, “we can agree.” She’s seen Salem’s power first-hand. Greenie isn’t going to last long against the witch with one hundred plus pounds of dead weight in his arms.</p><p>A number of Grimm struggling against the shield turn to dust. With a mighty yell, Arc makes a final push for the exit. The force of it bowls the remaining creatures over as the hunter stumbles through the opening and out into the hangar.</p><p>She takes the time to stab <em>Thief’s Respite</em> through the last of the Grimm. No need to add more complications to this <em>mess.</em></p><p>Emerald can almost <em>hear </em>Mercury’s caustic laughter in her mind. <em>This is why we don’t help people, </em>Mini Merc chides. <em>It gets messy </em>way <em>too quickly.</em></p><p>A series of explosions interrupt her thoughts. “Might want to get moving!” Yang calls as she propels herself down the corridor with her shotguns.</p><p>Right. The <em>other</em> mass of Grimm.</p><p>Which is currently racing after Neopolitan, who, in turn, is running directly toward her.</p><p>
  <em>Great.</em>
</p><p>She turns tail and dives through the exit.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Momentum.</em>
</p><p>She lands a solid punch on the first Grimm she sees: a large Ursa that’s standing just a little too close to the entrance.</p><p>
  <em>Freedom.</em>
</p><p>Her second punch, a forceful hook, hits the creature directly in its stomach. It rears up with a pained cry and bursts into ash.</p><p><em>Flight.</em> </p><p>Yang fires a round at an angle to the ground; she allows the momentum to thrust her body to her right which brings her directly in front of a nearby Beringel with <em>wings when did that happen?</em> She jabs at its chest with her prosthetic arm and follows up almost immediately with a second, more powerful, hook that makes it stumble backward. She fires two more rounds behind her to close the gap. A punch and a kick later, and the duel is over.</p><p>This is <em>so </em>much easier when she has the space to <em>move</em>.</p><p>With the two most immediate threats out of the way, she’s able to get a better look at the rest of the battle that’s spilled into the hangar.</p><p>Neopolitan is a whirlwind of deadly grace as she twirls, flips, and bats her enemies away with her parasol. She looks <em>much </em>more comfortable – the cramped corridor really didn’t do her any favors. She battles just in front of the entrance, using its limited dimensions as a chokepoint to thin the numbers of Grimm streaming onto the walkway.</p><p>Emerald’s battle is a little further away from the entrance. Yang’s clearing of the two larger Grimm had helped her get to the smaller ones, a group of Sabyrs. Her sickles swing in deadly arcs around her person and create a sort of barrier the creatures don’t even <em>attempt </em>to cross.</p><p>It’s Jaune that really catches her attention. <em>Crocea Mors </em>gleams crimson as it slices through the neck of an Ursa. Despite the exhaustion she <em>knows </em>he’s feeling, he advances steadily, hacking and slashing through enemy after enemy with dogged determination in the direction of something –</p><p>Then she sees Salem, Ren, and the huddled green figure laying between them.</p><p>Like <em>hell.</em></p><p>She feels familiar rage bubble to the surface and tamps down on it with all of her willpower. Not now. She needs a way over there, and she can’t give into it <em>not now</em>.</p><p>There’s another Ursa not too far away that will make the <em>perfect</em> springboard.</p><p>Yang darts toward the large Grimm. She leaps into the air and fires both shotguns once. They push her higher – high enough for her to vault over its head. She springs from its back, discharging two more salvos. The blasts carry her up and over the bulk of the battle. She soars through the air on a direct course for Salem.</p><p>The woman’s attention rests solely on Ren and Oscar. Yang is certain that she hasn’t even registered her approach. If she’s going to attack, it needs to be now, while the witch’s back is turned. In the last few seconds of her approach, she activates her semblance.</p><p>
  <em>Just one hit.</em>
</p><p>She pulls her human fist back for her strongest diving punch.</p><p><em>End it in one</em>.</p><p>She lets it fly.</p><p>
  <em>End it –</em>
</p><p>Her fist connects with something solid, but it isn’t Salem’s skull.</p><p>A massive Grimm hand disintegrates in its stead. She suppresses a furious growl and proceeds to throw a second punch. A second hand takes the place of the first. She tries again. And again. <em>And again</em>.</p><p>Every attempt ends the same way: a Grimm hand comes up at the last minute to block the attack. She finally pulls away, panting. This isn’t working. Her semblance pulses painfully in warning beneath her skin. One and a half minutes, <em>maybe </em>two if she really stretches it – that’s all she has left.</p><p>“Are you finished making a fool of yourself?” Salem questions dryly. She turns to face Yang, a sharp sneer cutting across her face. “Really, <em>this</em> is the best Ozma could come up with?”</p><p>Yang scowls. Alright. Seems like she needs a change in strategy.</p><p>She launches herself into the air and uses her weapons to put herself directly next to Ren, who lies prone on the ground. Spindly arms wrap around both of his legs and his lower back, effectively pinning him in place. She crouches down to get a closer look. If she can free him, it’ll be two on one and…</p><p>“Don’t,” he says, “I won’t be much help.” He glances pointedly back at his feet with a deep frown.</p><p>She follows his gaze; she can’t help the grimace that crosses her face when she notices his swollen red ankle.</p><p>“Just focus on – look out!”</p><p>Yang just barely has time to roll out of the way of a large, red, <em>crackling</em> ball of energy. She pops to her feet and lunges at Salem. The woman doesn’t even move. Instead, she somehow summons two more hands to block Yang’s attacks.</p><p>“<em>Fight me,</em>” she demands, throwing another punch. She tears through three more hands. “This whole <em>magic </em>schtick,” she spits furiously, “is <em>cheap</em>.” She lets loose a series of punches, channeling more of her semblance into her fists with every punch.</p><p>Salem simply sends her a tiny, amused smile. “How long can you continue this little temper tantrum, I wonder,” she muses. “You must be running low on aura by now.”</p><p>Out the corner of her eye, Yang sees abrupt movement. She begins a new volley of attacks. By this point, she knows she’s only going to hit more Grimm, but that isn’t the point.</p><p>No, the point is that she keeps Salem distracted just long enough to give Jaune the chance to strike.</p><p>The huntsman brings <em>Crocea Mors </em>down in an overhead strike he’s aimed directly at her head.</p><p>Salem’s eyes widen slightly. Her smile grows into a triumphant grin as her red eyes <em>glow</em> brightly. She whirls around, bringing her hand up in a halting motion.</p><p>Jaune freezes mid-swing. His eyes and the muscles in his neck bulge. His arms tremble; a red blush begins to rise on his cheeks.</p><p>“Really? That was your plan?” she inquires mockingly. “You really <em>are </em>children.” She looks down at Oscar and chuckles.</p><p>Yang snarls. “Hey, we’re not –“ She freezes, the rest of her statement stuck in her throat. She can’t move; she can’t even <em>breathe. </em>It’s like the woman has locked every muscle in her body in ice. She struggles against the magic holding her body in place, but not even a finger twitches.</p><p>Salem’s other hand points at the huntress. “I wasn’t speaking to <em>you</em>,” the witch remarks. She glances between her two opponents and narrows her eyes when they fall upon Yang once more. A considering look crosses her face. She flicks the hand that holds Jaune. The huntsman flies through the air, slamming into the back wall so hard that his aura flickers before shattering like glass.</p><p>Yang can’t believe her eyes as inky black arms emerge from the wall and encase her friend’s upper body. Jaune’s aura hasn’t broken since, since <em>Beacon</em>. With his massive reserves and his semblance…</p><p>Just how long has he been running on fumes?</p><p>A touch that’s both blazing heat and cutting cold brushes across her jaw. “But I will,” a sweet voice says by her ear. “You have something,” Salem says as her face comes into Yang’s view. She pauses, her features dangerously close. Her mouth curls into a too wide, too <em>toothy</em>, smile. “Something <em>magical</em>.” A hand brushes against Yang’s pants pocket and dips into the fabric.</p><p>Yang wants to close her eyes. She wants to knock the hand aside. She wants to fight back, to kick, to do <em>something</em>. Instead, she watches Salem pull the lamp from her pocket. Her vision begins to blur. Black creeps at the edge of her perception.</p><p>“The relic’s power has diminished greatly since it answered the last question,” the witch explains with an infuriatingly smug expression on her face, “but even now, I can still sense its magic.” She leans in, dropping her voice to a soft murmur. “You never had a chance.”</p><p>With another flick of her hand, the pressure constricting Yang tightens considerably. Her prosthetic arm bends uncomfortably back away from her shoulder.</p><p>The force holding Yang’s face in place loosens somewhat. She grins with cockiness she doesn’t feel. “There’s always a chance,” she replies.</p><p>Salem’s mouth twists into a mockery of a tender smile. “Summer Rose said that, once,” she says.</p><p>And then the pressure is twisting, tearing, <em>rending </em>her arm in its socket and Yang <em>screams </em>in agony. Her ports burn in a blazing inferno. Her shoulder muscles twist painfully. She can both hear and <em>feel </em>metal snapping into pieces. Someone shouts in the background, but she pays them no mind because she’s lost in a sea of pain and <em>shock</em> and <em>no no no no no no why?</em></p><p>When black at the edges of her vision swallows her in its cold embrace, she welcomes it with open arms.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The agonized screaming is what finally catches her attention. She thrusts <em>Hush </em>beneath the belly of the last Ursa and pushes it open. The creature flies into the air, which allows her to jab her blade through its stomach. As she collapses <em>Hush </em>once more, she glances around the area – her and Emerald have pretty much cleared the hangar of Grimm.</p><p>She’d been fine with leaving Salem to the trio, but that sound… (anguish. shame. rage.) She and Emerald share a look, and Neopolitan turns her full attention to the second to last landing platform.</p><p>Yellow writhes in the air, her mechanical arm hanging from her shoulder by exposed wires. She claws at nothing with her other arm. Tears flow freely down her face, and her eyes look almost entirely glazed over – despite the screaming, the girl’s been gone for a while now. (gone. vanished. left.)</p><p>She doesn’t see White (cliff. flung. falling.) and Green strains against Grimm hands pinning him to the ground.</p><p>Oz(ma? pin? car?) doesn’t move. Not surprising.</p><p>Salem flicks her hand again, and Yellow’s body suddenly contorts into a position that looks <em>incredibly </em>uncomfortable, possibly deadly.</p><p>Neopolitan frowns. That won’t do. (red. mission. <em>family.</em>)</p><p>She doesn’t wait for Emerald’s signal. She dashes forward, her blade ready to strike. She dodges the first of two Grimm limbs that rise from the ground and slices through the second without hesitation. A third rises in her path almost too quickly for her to react, but she manages to open her parasol in just enough time for it to whisk her up into the air.</p><p>She activates her semblance, leaving an illusion of her floating self in the air as she closes <em>Hush</em>. She drops silently to the ground. (silent. surprise. attention.)</p><p>The witch drops Yellow into her Grimm’s waiting hands and glares at the illusion. “You just won’t give up,” she says darkly. She raises a hand and forms a swirling, multicolored mass in her hands. It sparks once before shooting dark bolts of lightning at the illusion.</p><p>Neopolitan sprints the rest of the way to Salem. She swings <em>Hush</em> in a wide arc just before the illusion shatters.</p><p>The parasol connects with a solid <em>thunk</em>, and the woman’s face screws up into angry surprise. The spell in her hand vanishes as she stumbles backward. She catches her balance; her eyes narrow into slits. “Enjoy that moment of victory,” she advises. “It <em>will </em>be your last.” She catches Neopolitan’s follow-up strike with her hand and rips the blade from the assassin’s hand.</p><p>Neopolitan grimaces. She flips backward, scowling when Salem glances with apathy at the sharp weapon. “You won’t be needing this,” the witch remarks coolly. She tosses it over the edge of the platform.</p><p>Neopolitan frowns, but she can’t bring herself to feel too much anger at the loss. A blade is a blade, and she isn’t defenseless. She still has her parasol. (safety. protection. forged.)</p><p>“I think you’re seriously underestimating us,” Emerald says at her side. “Pretty sure <em>we’ll </em>be the ones winning.” She glances at Neopolitan and grins. (fake. fake.)</p><p>(ache. love. gone.)</p><p>Salem approaches them with slow, deliberate steps. “I have lived more lifetimes than you can <em>imagine</em>.” Her scowl deepens. “There is no trick, no strategy, no <em>power </em>that I haven’t seen.” She stretches her hands out at her sides. Dark, swirling pools appear at her feet. Black and white hands claw at the air. “If <em>Ozpin</em> cannot defeat me,” she spits, “what makes you think that <em>you </em>will succeed?”</p><p>“Don’t know,” Emerald says with a lopsided grin, “but I’ve seen a lot of impossible things today so…” She shrugs. “I’m willing to take my chances.”</p><p>(lie. fear.)</p><p>(run?)</p><p>The thief retracts her sickles and locks them in gun form.</p><p>(fight?)</p><p>She nods at Neopolitan.</p><p>(fight.)</p><p>Neopolitan raises <em>Hush</em> in silent warning. A moment later, and there are <em>ten </em>Neopolitans. (her. copy. interest.) She smiles; she leaps into the air.</p><p>(<em>fight.</em>)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Her first shots go wide, and Emerald has to remind herself to <em>breathe</em>.</p><p>Her legs are still shaking, too, but breathing is more important right now.</p><p>Neopolitan jabs at the hands with the tip of her parasol.</p><p>Emerald notes that they seem to block blows very well, but they aren’t the strongest protection she’s ever seen. What makes them a great defense is their sheer number and how quickly Salem can summon them. She fires another salvo. This time, she manages to hit five hands, which gives her partner and her “doubles” another chance at the witch.</p><p>The real Neopolitan and two fakes take advantage of the moment. They quickly jab at Salem’s midsection from three different directions, and it seems, for a moment, that the real hit will land. A hand reaches over to block it, and Emerald has to swallow the harsh growl that creeps up her throat.</p><p>She searches Salem’s face for any sign of exhaustion – the witch has been summoning Grimm and defending herself <em>non-stop</em> since the beginning of the battle, not to mention what she did to Yang; she <em>has </em>to reach the limit of her magic at some point. But, she notes with worry, all she sees is annoyance and <em>disdain</em>.</p><p>The only time the witch has actually shown a gap in her defenses was when she shot that lightning, and Emerald has <em>no idea </em>how to make that happen again.</p><p>And, she’s getting close to the end of her aura reserves. Which… is bad. Very bad.</p><p>She stops firing her weapons and leaps backward as three hands emerge from the ground at her feet.</p><p><em>You should have run, </em>Mini Merc remarks. <em>You had the chance to steal another airship and leave. Why didn’t you?</em></p><p>She resumes firing and cringes when Grimm hands destroy three of the Neopolitan copies. She tries to summon more, but her semblance escapes her.</p><p>Neopolitan twirls to avoid a new set of hands erupting just behind her. They grasp at air, but they remain – another place on this walkway where they can no longer run.</p><p><em>She would have shot me out of the sky,</em> she replies. She has to dive to the side to avoid yet <em>another</em> set of hands snapping at her feet. <em>I would have died anyway.</em> She huffs. <em>I also thought The Numbskull Brigade would last a little longer than they did.</em></p><p>Two illusions shatter. Neopolitan makes another attempt at an attack, but it doesn’t connect.</p><p>“Give up on this fool’s errand,” Salem orders. She raises her hands, and more Grimm appendages burst into being.</p><p>This isn’t working, and she’s running out of ammo.</p><p>Emerald flicks <em>Thief’s Respite </em>into their sickle forms and dashes forward. She waits for Neopolitan to move before she throws the first at a group of hands nestled at Salem’s side. The sickle wraps itself around the hands, the chain binding them together. She grips the chain tightly and <em>yanks</em>. “Now!” she calls as she pulls the hands to the ground.</p><p>Neopolitan dances back into close range and whacks at Salem with her parasol. This time, the attack <em>connects</em>.</p><p>The hands twist awkwardly to grasp the chain. They pull, fast and sudden, and Emerald stumbles forward. She flicks her wrist, and her weapon unfurls from its prisoners.</p><p>Salem frowns. “I think,” she says darkly, “that I have entertained you long enough.” She raises her arms higher into the air; more pools bubble to Monstra’s surface.</p><p>Hands, more than Emerald has ever <em>seen</em>, erupt from the black sludge. Before she can react, hands wrap around her ankles and wrists. The Grimm yank her hands to the ground so that she’s kneeling. She feels her semblance fall the moment her knees hit the ground – it’s the end of her aura reserves. She looks to Neopolitan for help but finds that the assassin is in the exact same situation.</p><p>This… She feels her eyes widen as Salem approaches her. The woman stops only about a foot away and smiles sweetly. The embers in her eyes smolder with barely contained anger. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you,” she says softly.</p><p>A hand reaches up to wrap around Emerald’s neck and squeezes threateningly. Her breath hitches at the foreign contact. She ducks her head instinctively, withering under the woman’s attentions. Her pulse hammers in her ears. Her mind races for an answer, for <em>anything </em>that might get her out of this. “Y-you need Cinder to be your maiden,” she finally responds meekly, “and Cinder needs me. I-if you kill me, she’ll be furious.”</p><p><em>Will she? </em>a traitorous part of her whispers. <em>Does she really need you?</em></p><p>A smooth, white hand – <em>too cold, too hot, too </em>much – reaches down and cups her chin gently before it pulls away suddenly. Emerald can’t help the small whimper of relief that tears itself from her throat with the hand’s departure.</p><p>“Cinder overestimates her worth,” Salem notes harshly. Emerald jerks her head up in surprise at the statement. The woman’s frown quirks into an amused smile. “The Beacon vault doesn’t contain Choice,” she explains, “so I have no need for a Fall Maiden.” She tucks her arms behind her back and approaches the edge of the walkway. “<em>Cinder </em>has failed to obtain both Spring <em>and </em>Winter.” She glances back at Emerald with a small frown. “And her associates have chosen to betray me.”</p><p>The hand around Emerald’s neck tightens, and she can’t <em>breathe</em>. Her lungs scream in agony. Her mouth flops open in an attempt to find <em>something </em>to fill her lungs. The hammering in her ears steadily increases in volume; her chest bursts into flames. She thrashes and fights and heaves but nothing works and <em>she’s going to die and thIS IS WHY WE DON’T HELP PEOPLE THIS IS WHY THIS IS WHY WHY WHY WHY –</em></p><p>“ – op! – p, – ease.”</p><p><em>oxygen. precious oxygen. </em>She breathes deeply, relishing in the sweet air that cycles into her lungs. The hand around her neck digs its harsh claws into her throat, but she can <em>breathe </em>and that’s what matters.</p><p>“No one has to die,” a soft voice pleads. A wet, broken cough echoes in the hangar. “Please.”</p><p>“Why do you do this?” Salem asks. She’s talking to… the kid? “You continue to bring your children into this conflict.” She leans over him, and from this angle, Emerald can’t see anything. “Even now, you turn them against me.” She stands and walks past Emerald.</p><p>The hand around her throat climbs up to her jaw. It wrenches her head around so that she can see Salem approaching Arc, who’s pinned to the wall.</p><p>He squirms inside of his Grimm prison. Grunts and gasps filter through the hand acting as a gag over his mouth. He stills once she’s close enough to kick. His eyes harden.</p><p>Emerald can almost imagine his whiny voice saying, <em>Do your worst. </em></p><p>“Your face may change, my dear Ozma,” she says, forming a black ball of energy in her hand, “but it seems that many things remain the same.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I take no pleasure in doing this, but you need to learn that fighting me brings nothing but <em>death</em>.” With those final words, she fires a bolt of lightning straight into Arc’s chest.</p><p>Arc’s body jumps and jerks awkwardly in the hands’ grip, his legs bouncing slightly on the floor. His eyes flutter open and closed. The few times she can see them properly, they’re unfocused, pupils blown. She’s grateful for the gag. At least it makes the screaming somewhat bearable.</p><p>The air <em>crackles</em>. A bolt of green light flies past her face and slams into Salem’s back. The spell dissipates, and the witch’s entire body tenses.</p><p>The hand around Emerald’s neck slips away. She whips her head toward the source of the blast.</p><p>The kid is standing. He’s hunched over and looks like a strong gust of wind will knock him over, but he’s <em>standing</em> on shaky legs. His mouth is curled into a deep frown; his eyes flicker vivid green. He’s raised his arm in front of him in a shaky protective gesture. The only thing holding his hand up is the makeshift brace from earlier. A small green ball floats beneath his hand.</p><p>“I see you’ve finally awakened your magic,” Salem remarks coolly. She strides into view. “And so quickly, too. This host certainly <em>is </em>talented.”</p><p>The kid doesn’t say anything, but the ball of magic flares slightly in warning.</p><p>“Usually, you have some remark or <em>speech </em>for me. I must say I’m surprised – you were so talkative earlier.” She pauses. The tension in the room thickens.</p><p><em>Is he </em>seriously <em>giving her the silent treatment?</em> Emerald wonders blearily. She’s still a bit stuck on the fact that the kid is <em>standing</em>, and a small part of her wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of this entire… adventure.</p><p>“Ozma?” she questions. Is that <em>hurt </em>in her voice? She’s <em>hurt</em> that he’s not…</p><p>Emerald’s mind does loopdy-loops trying to figure out what exactly is going on because this is just crazy.</p><p>Something sad flickers across the kid’s face before it settles into a weary expression that has no business being on the face of someone <em>that </em>young.</p><p>His mouth quirks into a small, tired smile.</p><p>“Not quite,” he says softly.</p><p>The world erupts into brilliant emerald light.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaune’s head is still ringing when he feels the hands gripping his body vanish. He shakes the last vestiges of green away and struggles to his feet. His body still aches, but a flare of aura – he’s always replenished it quickly – and he feels somewhat better.</p><p>He glances around the hangar. Yang and Ren are still on the ground, but both of them are free from their bindings. Emerald seems to be climbing to her feet. Neopolitan doesn’t look too badly off.</p><p>Oscar… Ozpin – he’s not sure who, exactly, is in control – stands on trembling legs. He looks at Jaune and smiles softly. He gestures weakly to Salem, who’s still stumbling blindly about. “All yours,” he offers before collapsing face-first to the ground.</p><p>Jaune grips <em>Crocea Mors </em>tightly in his hand; he approaches the snarling witch quickly. He doesn’t know how long Ozpin’s spell will last, and he really doesn’t want to waste the opportunity.</p><p>Upon his approach, her unfocused eyes flare brilliant vermillion. “They’re coming,” she mutters beneath her breath. Baying and howling sounds somewhere far too close for comfort. “Good luck, children.”</p><p>Before he can think too much about it, he stabs his sword straight through her heart.</p><p>She jerks in surprise, her mouth gaping in a silent o. She dissolves into a puddle of white and black goo. The Relic of Knowledge bounces on the floor.</p><p>“Emerald, take Oscar to the ship,” Jaune orders as he retrieves the lamp from the floor. “You can fly an airship, right?”</p><p>Emerald nods. “I can, but Neopolitan has more experience.” She gently takes Oscar’s unconscious body into her arms and makes for the nearest airship.</p><p>“Alright, then Neopolitan, get it going. I think she just called for backup,” he explains. “If you can, check on Ren and Yang. I don’t know –”</p><p>“We’re mostly intact,” Yang interrupts, coming up beside him with Ren’s arm wrapped around her shoulders for support. Her mechanical arm is completely severed from her body. She pulls her scroll from her pocket and flicks it open. “I really hope you can get an airship going in six minutes, because we’ve got exactly <em>that long </em>before Atlas drops a bomb on us,” she says to Neopolitan.</p><p>The woman gives the three of them a thumbs up before she vanishes.</p><p>With that taken care of, Jaune turns his attention to the goo. Salem is reforming a lot faster than he’d like – the goo has already reformed her body up to the torso. He frowns. At this rate, it will only take her another forty seconds to fully reform, and then she’ll try to kill them again.</p><p>He offers the lamp to Yang. “I don’t have pockets <em>or </em>a keychain for this thing,” he explains when she shoots him a confused look. “I need you two to take this to the airship while I keep her from killing all of us. Plus, there’s the Grimm backup she called. Gotta make sure we aren’t overrun.”</p><p>Ren’s eyebrows furrow. “Can you do that before we have to leave?”</p><p>Jaune nods. “I’ll be right behind you,” he promises, ignoring the curdling in his stomach. “Get go –”</p><p>Yang pushes Ren off of her shoulder and delivers a hard punch to Salem’s reforming body with her good arm. It collapses back into goo. “Bullshit!” she exclaims. “You’re going to stay behind and play hero,” she accuses angrily. “<em>I’m </em>staying behind because I’m no use to anyone like this.” She gestures to her missing arm with a pointed look.</p><p>“And <em>I’m </em>staying because she can’t kill Salem and her backup alone,” Ren adds. He glances down at his purple ankle and grimaces. “I can’t get very far on this. I’ll slow you down.”</p><p>Jaune’s mind reels. “But, Oscar needs –”</p><p>“Oscar needs <em>you </em>and <em>your </em>semblance,” Yang says impatiently. She reaches into her pocket and pulls <em>The Long Memory</em> from its folds. She presses it into the hand holding the lamp. “Get going, Jaune. Three minutes.” She grins brightly. “We’ll meet up with you later, okay? Just tell Ruby and Qrow… and Blake that I’ll be a little late to the giant party we’ll have when all of this is over and that they’d <em>better </em>save me a slice of cake.”</p><p>Ren opens his mouth to say something, but a pained expression crosses his face as he closes his mouth. He jerks his head in the direction of the airship. “Go,” he orders with no room for argument. He activates <em>Stormflower </em>just as the first wave of Grimm enters the hangar.</p><p>“Two minutes!” Emerald calls from the ship.</p><p>Jaune’s heart plummets. He can’t leave them. He can’t just… He can’t. <em>He can’t do this.</em></p><p>“<em>Go</em>.”</p><p>He sheaths <em>Crocea Mors </em>and runs for the airship.</p><p>Emerald reaches down with a hand to help him into the cockpit. She glances at the two remaining team members. Yang punches at the puddle of goo repeatedly while Ren shoots the Grimm pouring from the hangar entrance as quickly as he can. “What about them?” she asks.</p><p>Jaune swallows the lump in his throat. He pulls Oscar into his lap; he pretends not to notice the way his hands tremble. “They aren’t coming,” he informs her neutrally. “Get us out of here.”</p><p>Neopolitan glances back at him in surprise. The surprise shifts to sharp, biting anger and she shakes her head.</p><p>“Neopolitan, <em>please</em>,” Emerald murmurs. “We don’t have time to argue. We’ll die.”</p><p>The silent woman frowns deeply. She turns back to the console and flips a switch.</p><p>The engine hums beneath his feet. A glass screen envelops the cockpit. They rise from the ground, and in mere moments, the sight of Monstra’s hangar is a not-so-distant memory. They soar into a warzone. Beringels and Atlas military ships swarm around their smaller ship, but they don’t seem to recognize their presence as they climb through the thick brown smog.</p><p>Emerald’s closed eyes and furrowed brow tells him everything he needs to know.</p><p>Jaune’s heart <em>hurts</em>. He wants to curl into a ball and scream and rage and curse and <em>cry. </em>This… He chokes back a sob. This wasn’t what he thought being a hero would be. He’d thought it would be daring adventures and rescuing princesses and wealth and fame… not <em>sacrifice </em>and <em>grief. </em>Not lost comrades and roads never taken. Not ancient wizards and Grimm witches and people who turn into <em>birds </em>and maidens and magic and <em>relics </em>that make <em>no </em>sense.</p><p>He rues the day he heard the words: <strong><em>What’s your favorite fairytale?</em></strong></p><p>His scroll beeps. He pulls it from his pocket.</p><p>One message.</p><p>W: <em>I’m sorry.</em></p><p>His heart pounds heavily in his chest. He scans the warzone – there, a ship clearly headed for the top of Monstra. It hovers above the Grimm directly over the hole.</p><p>From this distance, Jaune can’t see anything very well. He waits with bated breath. <em>Are they really going to drop it?</em> His stomach performs backflips. His heart leaps into his chest. <em>Is it going to work?</em></p><p>
  <em>Are they really going to die?</em>
</p><p>He turns his eyes back to his scroll. They’re one minute past, close to two.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>If you aren’t out in time, we drop the payload no matter what.</em> </strong>
</p><p>The clock ticks past the two-minute mark.</p><p>He tries to squash the small sliver of hope as it ticks past minute three. He tries so hard not to think of what ifs and fantasies. This is <em>Atlas</em>.</p><p>But this is also Winter who said, <em>I’m sorry.</em></p><p>A loud <em>BOOM </em>rocks the airship. A gaping hole appears in the giant Grimm’s side, and then it bursts into a giant cloud of ash.</p><p>For the first time since Argus, Jaune allows himself to cry.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>ACT 1: END</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, Neo - writing her was an adventure. For one thing, she's a complex character with her own motivations - but she RARELY voices those motivations. Emerald assumes throughout this arc that Neo is in it because she doesn't want the world to end. Does Neo actually want that? Is that why she's going along with all of this? For another thing, people with speech impediments and disabilities often think differently, which is why her thoughts are simplistic one word answers. My headcanon is that Neo only communicates through mime - she always had to go through Roman to communicate the more complex stuff and went along with his plans/was devoted to him because she could trust him with that. Again, personal headcanon. Because of this, she probably doesn't think in terms of full sentences - instead, she thinks in terms of things she thinks she can portray through her actions. Make sense?</p><p>Two: there were not always going to be multiple arcs to this fic, but then the plotbunnies happened and Yang and Ren were left in a perilous situation (I didn't originally plan for them and Hazel to still be on Monstra when the bomb went off - that's a development that happened about two weeks ago), Hazel is still MIA, Emerald has an arc to finish, NEO has an arc to finish, Oscar is in a merge-trance, and Jaune has to figure out what the hell he can do to Fix Everything (TM). Don't even get my started on RWBN - I haven't figured any of that out yet.</p><p>3: No one tried to guess my acronyms *sadness* - JRY stands for "Just Rescuing You" and HOE stood for "Heroes or Enemies?"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. WM > SNAP > Surrender</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The moments before and after the bomb.</p><p>Thus, we begin Arc 2.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright, I'm just gonna... stop replying to people asking when the next chapter is coming, because I give a date and suddenly I get writer's block. I'm just gonna stop jinxing myself. Yeah.</p><p>Ahem. *Coughs awkwardly* In all seriousness, we're now making a departure from our old cast of characters (somewhat, anyway), so I hope y'all enjoy the new perspectives. As always, comments, criticism (nicely put criticism!), theories, random thoughts, and anything else y'all want to say are always welcome!</p><p>EDIT: OMG I NEVER SAID IT BUT WE'VE OFFICIALLY HIT 100 KUDOS AND I'M... y'all. seriously. y'all. i love you.</p><p>Song for the chapter: Cage on the Ground by Flyleaf</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The airship rocks beneath his feet, and Marrow has to fight down the nausea that rolls through his gut. He’s taken some rocky flights, sure, but this?</p><p>Harriet yanks on the controls. The airship spins into a sharp barrel roll – <em>airships weren’t made for those</em> – to avoid the massive Beringel that’s trying <em>very </em>hard to rip its wings from their hinges.</p><p>“Harriet,” Vine calls from the passenger bay, “do remember that we are transporting a bomb. This extra movement is unnecessarily rough.”</p><p>The operative snarls. “Let me assure you,” she bites back, “what I’m doing is <em>necessary </em>for our <em>survival</em>.” She yanks on the controls again so that they’re flying level once more. “This thing has already managed to take out our weapons systems.”</p><p>Marrow <em>really </em>doesn’t like the burning sensation creeping up his throat. He also doesn’t like the fact that the Beringel is <em>following them</em>.</p><p>“How much longer?” Winter asks over his shoulder. Her hand curls into the back of Marrow’s seat as she leans forward to get a good view of the battle.</p><p>Marrow frowns. “I don’t know,” he says, staring out into brown smoke and dust. “Not long, I think.” The nausea returns, but this time it’s for an entirely different reason. “We’ll probably get there earlier than we anticipated.”</p><p>He pointedly doesn’t notice the hand on his chair tighten at his prediction.</p><p>“Good,” Elm cuts in, her voice strained. “The sooner that thing is destroyed, the sooner Atlas is <em>safe</em>.”</p><p>Marrow turns his head ever so slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the familiar glow of her semblance – she must be using it to keep the bomb in place.</p><p><em>The bomb.</em> Large, silver, imposing… He’d balked at the sight of it when the Atlas science team had rolled it aboard their transport.</p><p><strong><em>Isn’t that overkill?</em> </strong>he’d asked.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>There’s no such thing as overkill when your home is at stake.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>He looks up at Winter. “Have you heard from Arc?” he asks quietly.</p><p>Her face pinches briefly before she schools it into a stony expression. “Not since they found Pine,” she replies.</p><p>“Does it matter?” Harriet spits. She pulls the airship out of the Beringel’s path with a jerk that makes Marrow’s head spin. “They’re the ones who decided to go in there for their <em>friend</em>.”</p><p>Elm yelps behind them, but there’s no explosion, so she’s probably fine. Probably.</p><p>“They’re huntsmen too,” Marrow says with a shrug. “Their priorities may be skewed, but we <em>are </em>on the same side.”</p><p>Harriet turns to him with an increasingly familiar look of rage. “We are <em>not</em>,” she snaps, “on the same side.” She bursts from her seat so that she’s looming over him. “<em>They </em>betrayed us. <em>They </em>want to abandon Atlas. <em>They </em>put their <em>friendships </em>above doing the right thing. <em>They </em>killed <em>Clover</em>!”</p><p>Silence, heavy, <em>grieving </em>silence settles over the cabin.</p><p>Marrow opens his mouth to respond – <em>did they? </em>– but the sharp <em>SCREECH </em>of metal tearing cuts through the conversation with its serrated edge. His head whips to the sound.</p><p>The Beringel clutches at the front of their ship, its massive claws tearing through protective plating like it’s butter.</p><p>“Harriet, <em>sit down</em> <em>and fly</em>,” Winter orders. “Marrow –”</p><p>She stops as the Beringel freezes. Its crimson eyes flicker once, then twice, and then it pushes its massive body into the air. Marrow can hardly breathe as the creature dives back into murky clouds of dust and ash.</p><p>“What just happened?” he murmurs.</p><p>Harriet slips back into her chair with a dumbfounded expression.</p><p>Winter shakes her head, her face returning to stony focus. “Whatever it was, let’s not waste the opportunity,” she says. “We have a mission to complete.”</p><p>Marrow worries at the edge of his jacket with his fingers. It’s an old habit he’d picked up during his time in the Academy, and despite Harriet’s insistence that he rid himself of it, he still hasn’t managed to let it go.</p><p>It’s a comfort, but not as much of one as he would like.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They pass a good number of Grimm, but instead of attacking, the creatures simply fly in the direction of the fortress. Winter isn’t entirely sure that it’s a good thing.</p><p>“I can’t be the only one wondering why they aren’t attacking us, right?” Marrow asks beneath her.</p><p>Harriet snorts. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Would you rather them be trying to kill us?”</p><p>He puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “No, no!” He lowers his hands and shakes his head. “I’m just wondering what’s happening in there,” he admits, nodding his head at the giant Grimm.</p><p>Winter can’t help but finger the scroll tucked away in her pocket. She doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s curious as well. She looks out the window at the struggling creature on the ground. It hasn’t put out a new wave of Grimm in some time, which is rather worrying.</p><p>“Let’s hope that whatever it is keeps going,” Harriet replies. “We’re almost to the coordinates Intelligence gave us. That hole, whatever it is, should be coming up pretty soon.”</p><p>Marrow suddenly leans forward, his nose almost pressing against the glass. “Do you see that?” he asks, pointing at some spot on the monster’s head. “Look!”</p><p>Winter cranes her neck to see around him. Sure enough, there’s… something – a mark, a speck, some <em>difference</em> in the Grimm’s features – but she can’t make it out from this distance. If it truly is Arc’s strange entrance…</p><p><em>How did he manage to see that?</em> she wonders. <em>It’s so… small.</em></p><p>“Harriet –”</p><p>“On it.” The operative pushes the controls forward. The airship descends quickly – a little <em>too </em>quickly, but Winter isn’t going to mention it – and it takes barely a minute for them to be hovering above what can only be a <em>gaping hole </em>in the Grimm. Harriet presses a button on the console. The bay doors slide open smoothly.</p><p>Marrow joins Vine and Elm in manipulating the bomb so that it lies just in front of the bay doors.</p><p>Winter pulls the scroll from her pocket. One minute and no message. Her heart sinks into her stomach.</p><p>She types a quick message: <em>I’m sorry.</em></p><p>Pressing a finger to the communicator nestled in her ear, Winter says, “Sir, this is Specialist Schnee. We are over the drop zone.”</p><p>The tinny speaker crackles in her ear. “Excellent work. Deploy when ready.”</p><p>“You heard the man,” Elm says, “let’s drop this thing and get out of here.”</p><p>Marrow’s face falls. “But… They’re still in there, right?” he asks. “We can’t give them a few more minutes?”</p><p>“For every minute we spend waiting,” Vine responds calmly, “more lives are lost on the ground. Atlas needs us to complete our mission.”</p><p>All three operatives turn to Winter, and suddenly, she feels as though <em>she’s </em>the one under the microscope.</p><p>“On your mark,” Elm says. Her hands grip one of the bomb’s large metal handles.</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>We don’t let feelings get in the way of making the right call.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Day one of the Academy: The mission is all that matters.</p><p>Day two: You cannot, <em>must not</em>, rely solely on your team. You are not friends. You are soldiers pursuing one goal for the common good.</p><p>It isn’t her fault that Beacon failed to teach its students that lesson.</p><p>“Drop it,” she orders.</p><p>A shove from Elm, and the bomb is falling.</p><p>Winter tells herself that her stomach isn’t dropping with it. She closes her eyes, takes a breath, and turns away from the doors. “Harriet, get us out –”</p><p>A snap. “STAY!”</p><p>And in one second, Winter remembers her <em>own </em>fall. Her own resignation to death, to <em>dying. </em>A soldier more fractured than whole falling to a lonely death out of… what? Duty? Loyalty?</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>What are you doing? My life doesn’t matter.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>She joined the Atlas military to be a part of something <em>greater</em>. To become something other than a Schnee. To escape the miserable place she’d once called home.</p><p>“Marrow, what are you <em>doing</em>?” Elm shrieks.</p><p>Winter whirls to face her team; she pulls her blade from its sheath.</p><p>Marrow slumps against the doorway, still facing outward. He’s breathing heavily, but he manages to let out a strained chuckle. “I-I know it’s stupid, but…” His head drops. “If I can give them one more minute, it’s worth it.”</p><p>She glances past him to where the bomb, Atlas’s one chance at survival, hangs frozen in midair.</p><p>“So now you’re a traitor too? Is that it?” Elm questions angrily. She steps forward, pulling her fist back into a punch.</p><p>Vine raises a hand to stop her before she can get too far. “Marrow,” he murmurs, “drop it now, and we will tell the general it was an accident. He will be more lenient.”</p><p>She left home because she couldn’t stand to have her heart crushed and discarded. She couldn’t stand <em>not feeling</em>.</p><p>Winter remembers warm arms clutching her tightly. <strong><em>I disagree.</em></strong></p><p>Perhaps she never had a chance.</p><p>“I can’t do that,” he rasps. “Not with them still in there.”</p><p>But Marrow…</p><p>“Then I’m afraid you’re under arrest,” Winter says. She sheaths her sword – Elm’s fists are reason enough not to struggle – and pulls her set of bolo ties from her belt.</p><p>He nods, resignation settling on his young features. “I figured,” he almost whispers as she pulls his wrists together behind his back. “I can’t,” he shudders and lets out a strangled gasp, “hold it.”</p><p>She remembers laying in on snow and ice, the cold - <strong><em>there are many different kinds of cold, Jaques says, every single one is a weapon, my weapon, to use -</em></strong> creeping into her bones like it belonged. <em><strong>I'm</strong></em><strong><em> giving you a head start.</em></strong></p><p>The bomb falls. The bay doors begin to close.</p><p>She activates her semblance and <em>shoves</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Wind ripples through his hair; ash burns in his throat. He barely even registers sharp, biting knives tearing at his skin because the thought and feeling of <em>falling falling brothers I’m falling</em> is so <em>much</em> he can’t breathe he can’t think just –</p><p>And then his chest hits something hard and soft and cold all at once and he’s <em>not </em>falling which is strange because he <em>should </em>be falling but something’s stopped him so he isn’t and…</p><p>Marrow clutches tightly at his lifeline – <em>sharp, soft, frozen, fire </em>– and pulls himself into a seated position. He opens his eyes just a crack, almost scared of what he might find, and gasps as he takes in the sight of a white Nevermore. A glowing,<em> Schnee-ish </em>Nevermore. He knows that this isn’t one of Weiss’s creations. Weiss doesn’t summon Nevermores; she isn’t even <em>here</em>. At the same time, it can’t be <em>Winter’s </em>because Winter…</p><p>His stomach twists painfully. Winter just shoved him out an airship.</p><p>
  <em>His CO just shoved him out an airship.</em>
</p><p>He grips cold feathers tightly.</p><p>Winter Schnee shoved him out an airship and <em>saved </em>him.</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
  
</p><p>The Nevermore pounds its powerful wings, and then they’re climbing, climbing, <em>climbing </em>into the air. They fly at a dizzying speed that sends his gut spiraling to his feet. His head spins. His heart pounds. He can’t hear anything over the sound of rushing air and wingbeats.</p><p>He can’t hear, but he <em>feels</em>. He feels sheer <em>force</em> throw himself and the Nevermore off balance. The summon balks and flaps frantically, but it holds steady even as Marrow’s ears scream in agony. He’s always had better hearing – one of the perks of being a faunus – but it’s certainly not feeling like a perk right now. Not after <em>that</em>.</p><p>The giant Grimm beneath him bursts into ash.</p><p>The world stills, frozen in a strange stasis that seems so foreign, so <em>wrong</em>. Salem’s forces stop in midair. Atlas airships pause. It’s as though every living thing is holding a collective breath, and somewhere beyond the ringing in his ears, Marrow can feel his own breath go stale in his chest. Energy – momentum? tension? <em>change? </em>– burns in his chest, beneath his skin, through his awareness, excising pain and confusion and <em>hurt</em> from his mind. It builds. It crackles. It churns and spins through every piece of himself, every nook and cranny in both body and mind –</p><p>And the moment <em>snaps.</em></p><p>The Nevermore dives.</p><p>Marrow is pretty sure he screams. Probably. He’s not really sure at this point.</p><p>Somewhere between the ringing in his ears and the burning in his throat, he loses consciousness.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Emerald breathes deeply.</p><p><em>In</em>.</p><p>She exhales.</p><p>
  <em>Out.</em>
  
</p><p>Her depleted aura buckles under the strain of holding this large of an illusion, but she wrangles it into submission with another breath.</p><p>
  <em>In.</em>
</p><p>At least the Arc kid isn’t crying anymore. That was distracting.</p><p>
  <em>Out.</em>
</p><p>“We’re almost clear,” Arc murmurs, his voice raw and ragged.</p><p>She cracks an eye open and glances at the huntsman – a kid himself, really – sitting on the opposite end of the bench. “I can drop it then?”</p><p>He nods silently. He’s slumped over the kid. His fingers cling desperately to green fabric as if the boy in his arms might vanish at any moment.</p><p>She wonders if he’s given any thought to the ugly black hole in his armor, if he’s even noticed the burn marks peeking through the new window in its formerly white plating.</p><p>Probably not.</p><p>Emerald lets a fatigued sigh fill the silent cabin. Her aura flickers gratefully over her skin. “So, where do we go from here?” she asks.</p><p>Arc blinks his puffy eyes in surprise.</p><p>“I…” His hand gently runs through the kid’s hair. “You’re going to go look for Cinder, right?” His gaze drops to the floor. “I don’t think you want us along for that,” he says wryly. “And Oscar needs help. <em>Real </em>help. There’s a doctor on Amity that might be able to help, but there aren’t any supplies there for this kind of thing.” He sighs, his resignation clear on his face. “I don’t – I don’t know what to do,” he finally admits.</p><p>Emerald glances out the glass dome. They’re on the outer edges of the aerial battle. A few straggling airships float in their general vicinity, but she’s pretty sure they’re not too worried about a random airship <em>leaving </em>the warzone.</p><p>She’d hoped that Monstra’s death would make things a bit calmer, but all it’s done is cause more chaos. At least under Salem, the Grimm had direction. Without her guidance…</p><p>A Beringel rams into a nearby ship. It tears at the white plating with its large hands. There’s the <em>SCREECH </em>of metal, and then the ship is falling from the sky, smoke pouring from its engines. The Grimm shrieks in triumph and soars up to join its kind far above Emerald’s head.</p><p>Without Salem, the war’s become a free for all.</p><p>She reluctantly tears her eyes from the sky. “Do you know <em>anyone</em> on Atlas who can help you?” she asks. “What about the rest of team RWBY?” She’s actually a little surprised they haven’t come up in conversation thus far. She’s even <em>more</em> surprised that they weren’t on the rescue mission.</p><p>Neopolitan’s head tilts toward them curiously.</p><p>Ark’s face darkens. “I don’t know where they are right now. We split up so that they could launch Amity and get our message out.” The muscles in his shoulders tighten painfully. “I’m pretty sure they can’t help Oscar, either. And…” His voice quivers. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go looking for them right now,” he finally whispers.</p><p>Emerald frowns. He’s… mostly right. She definitely can’t bring Arc and the kid along with her to find Cinder – too much bad blood there. But she can’t just fly them in circles until he figures out his next move. They have limited fuel reserves and not a lot of time to get this done. Once Salem’s back, she’ll punish Cinder in Emerald’s stead.</p><p>She needs to get to Cinder before that happens. Luckily, she has an idea of where to go.</p><p>The kids have to get off this ship, first.</p><p>“There <em>is </em>someone,” Arc says, his voice a low murmur. “I-It isn’t a guarantee, but…” He glances down at the kid with a sad expression. “He’s Professor Ozpin’s friend.” He lets out a huff. “Professor Ozpin’s friend who put out arrest warrants for all of us,” he qualifies bitterly, a sardonic smile flickering across his features. “I just need a way to call him. My scroll is locked at the moment.”</p><p>Emerald reaches into her pocket and tosses her scroll to him. “Watts put these together for us,” she explains when he looks at her with a wondrous expression. “It’s encrypted. Whoever it is you’re calling won’t know who it is or where you are, so I don’t mind letting you use it for one phone call.”</p><p>He smiles gratefully. “Thank you,” he breathes. He fumbles awkwardly at it with one hand, his other occupied with the kid in his lap.</p><p>The cabin is silent as the call connects.</p><p>“Hello?” a tired voice filters through tinny speakers. “I don’t have time for pranks –”</p><p>Arc’s eyes widen comically. “No, General, this isn’t a prank!” he says quickly. After a moment, the huntsman seems to remember himself. “It’s Jaune. I’m using a friend’s scroll.” He smiles wryly. “Mine was locked by the Ace Ops.”</p><p>Emerald raises an eyebrow. His call is to the man who tried to blow them up? <em>Ozpin’s </em>friend was going to <em>blow him up</em>?</p><p>“Jaune?” <em>General Ironwood</em> says with surprise. “Jaune!” The voice shifts suddenly – <em>too suddenly</em> – to a relieved tone. “I’m glad to hear that you’re alright. We were worried when we hadn’t heard from you.” The man pauses briefly before he asks, “Are you and the others alright?”</p><p>Something in the General’s tone sets Emerald on edge. She waves at Arc to grab his attention and motions for him to mute the call.</p><p>He nods in understanding, thumbing at the mute button.</p><p>Emerald crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s being really nice for a guy who put out an arrest warrant for you and your friends,” she remarks dryly.</p><p>He laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “He’s probably trying to keep me on the line so his techs can get my location. That, and he’s trying to get information – how many of us there are, our injuries…” The hand holding the scroll trembles. “He wants the upper hand,” he murmurs softly to himself, his eyes narrowing slightly.</p><p>“Jaune?”</p><p>Arc thumbs the mute off. “Sorry, you cut off for a second,” he says. “Look, Oscar is in bad shape. Can you help him?”</p><p>There’s another pause, this one longer.</p><p>Arc’s hand <em>quakes</em>.</p><p>“You, Xiao Long, and Ren will surrender yourselves. Then, we’ll talk about it,” the General says firmly. “Tell us where you are, and I’ll –”</p><p>“No,” Arc interrupts. His mouth curls into a determined frown. “You’ll <em>guarantee</em> Oscar medical help.” The hand in the kid’s coat curls into a fist. “In exchange, I’ll give you myself and the <em>relic</em>.”</p><p>“I won’t make any promises until all <em>three</em> of you are in Atlas custody.”</p><p>Arc’s head droops. “I can’t give you that,” he says quietly.</p><p>“If you won’t surrender yourselves, I won’t help you,” Ironwood replies coolly.</p><p>“I didn’t say I <em>won’t</em>. I said I <em>can’t</em>!” Arc snaps angrily. “Who do you think held Salem off long enough for us to escape?” He barks out a caustic laugh. “Atlas already took <em>Yang</em> and <em>Ren</em>. Your bomb made sure of it.” He exhales sharply, and the anger ebbs from his features. “All I have to offer are myself and the relic. I can’t do any more than that.”</p><p>His eyes close; his shoulders slowly relax.</p><p>“Professor Ozpin is back,” he adds after a moment of hesitation.</p><p>Tense silence overtakes the cabin. Emerald fights the urge to fidget. This entire call has been one mess of <em>uncomfortable</em>, but now she just feels like she’s intruding.</p><p>“We have a deal,” the man finally says. “We’ll activate the tracking on your scroll and send someone to make the arrest.” Arc moves to the end the call, but Ironwood adds softly, “For what it’s worth, I truly am sorry.”</p><p>The call disconnects.</p><p>Arc passes Emerald her scroll and slumps into the seat. “You might want to let us off soon,” he mumbles. A soft <em>ping! </em>echoes against the glass dome above their heads. “They’re tracking me.”</p><p>“Neopolitan?” Emerald says, leaning forward to place a hand on the assassin’s seat. “Think you can find somewhere safe to land?”</p><p>Neopolitan nods and pushes the controls forward. Their stolen airship tilts down toward the ground, and it’s only a minute, maybe two, before she’s opening the top of the cabin.</p><p>Arc gathers the kid, the relic, and the cane in his arms and throws one leg over the side of the hull. “I –“ He pauses, his eyes downcast. His entire body goes rigid as he works his jaw. “Thank you,” he finally says. “You helped us, and…” He shrugs awkwardly, the weight of the kid throwing off his mobility. “Despite everything, you – ”</p><p>“Arc,” she interrupts, careful to put flat boredom in her voice, “this doesn’t change anything.”</p><p><em>Wrong</em>, some part of her whispers, <em>you’ve changed </em>everything.</p><p><em>He doesn’t need to know that</em>, the other part, the “let’s pretend we’ve got <em>some </em>semblance of normal” part of her, replies harshly.</p><p>He smiles. Funny, it’s <em>almost </em>genuine.</p><p>Kid may be a better liar than she thought.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>And then he and his precious cargo are gone.</p><p>Emerald sighs. <em>Finally. </em>“Neopolitan.” She wrinkles her nose. “Can I call you Neo?” she asks.</p><p>The woman shrugs.</p><p>Well, it’s as much of a yes as she’s going to get.</p><p>“Neo,” she continues, hopping into the front passenger seat, “let’s go crash a prison break.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Um.. trailer dropped and I've been pouring over that thing like a madwoman. Looks like The Rescue (TM) isn't going to be nearly as clean as I wrote it (as a card carrying member of OPPS I am ashamed my poor baby nooooooo), some plot points that will be coming up in the near future are actually going to be sort of canon (my guess was RIGHT sis, how 'bout that?), Penny is gonna be all hacky-like, and Cinder's gonna get more focus (which... well, I have my guesses, but I'm not gonna share them out of fear of spoilers).</p><p>In other news, my roommate walked into our dorm, saw the knitting supplies strewn about my workstation, and point blank asked: "What story are you writing this time?" with the most mournful expression I think I've ever seen. Ever. (Do I knit when I have writer's block? Yes. Is the giant fluffy knitted wine, silver blue, and pink patchwork blanket I'm making for my little almost done? Also yes. Do I regret my life choices? To be determined. Likely yes.)</p><p>Writing Marrow and Winter was an odd combination of hard and not-hard because their early scenes had them focusing so much on each other. Of course, Winter then shoves him out an airship and that kinda flies out the window, but... Eh. If only we could just shove (or shoot) all of our problems off of dizzyingly high surfaces, right? *glares at Ironwood*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. OJ > WRQ > Need</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In the cold eternal light,<br/>I am the ember fading.<br/>Every scar we try to hide,<br/>I am the fake you made me.<br/>- "Psycho" Breaking Benjamin</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, this is... a departure. Well, the end is.</p><p>Special thanks to pheonixqueen for helping me get this chapter done!</p><p>So, please, enjoy! Comments welcome and encouraged!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the airship disappears into brown and grey haze, Jaune settles himself and Oscar into a semi-comfortable position on the ground. He carefully places the relic and <em>The Long Memory</em> at his side. He’s not sure how long he’ll have to wait and, well, he’s not exactly feeling up to standing at the moment.</p><p>He left them, just like he left Pyrrha.</p><p>His eyes close as he remembers a flash of red, a sad smile, soft lips pressing against his as the world <em>burns</em>.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I’m sorry.</em> </strong>
</p><p>He’d silently raged afterward. He’d screamed and cried and shoved. He’d mourned a choice he never got to make. How <em>dare </em>she choose for him? How <em>dare </em>she sacrifice herself when he – stupid, useless, <em>Jaune</em> who no one would have missed – was right there?</p><p>A part of him still burns with anger, even in the cold of Atlas.</p><p>But…</p><p>This isn’t the same.</p><p>He <em>made </em>the choice to leave. He could cry and rail against the unfairness of it all, but it was <em>his </em>choice.</p><p>The only person he can be angry with is himself.</p><p>It <em>hurts</em>. It rubs, raw and ragged against his heart. His anger, his <em>grief</em>, grows and twists and sinks its terribly sharp barbs into his chest and refuses to let go. He wants to collapse, to pull Oscar against his chest and just <em>melt</em> into his warmth. His hands clutch desperately at the one teammate he hasn’t lost. <em>Not now not ever not again.</em></p><p>Or…</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Not quite.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Emerald light flares in his mind.</p><p>No. No. His fingers curl into Oscar’s matted hair. He hasn’t lost him. He’s here. He’s breathing. He’s <em>going to be alright</em>.</p><p>Something growls, low and menacing, to his right. He opens his eyes, gently lowers Oscar to the ground, and pulls his sword from its sheath.</p><p>Two Grimm, Sabyrs - <em>he’s sick and tired of Sabyrs</em> – approach them, their red eyes glinting in dim light.</p><p>First lesson of survival: <em>negative emotions attract Grimm. </em>How could he have been so <em>stupid</em>? No matter how much he’s grown, how much he’s worked and slaved and <em>tried</em>, he keeps making rookie mistakes and now…</p><p>His eyes narrow. Now he needs to focus. Now he needs to fight not for himself, but for the boy on the ground at his feet.</p><p>The first Sabyr charges.</p><p>He swings his sword, slicing it cleanly in two. His arms tremble; his stomach aches.</p><p>The second Sabyr slams face first into his sword. He <em>shoves</em> under its weight, but all he really manages to do is make it stumble backwards. He frowns and raises his arms to swing again.</p><p>They don’t move. Not quickly enough.</p><p>His aura flares, but it isn’t enough to stop the Sabyr’s wickedly sharp teeth. Fire rips through his shoulder, and his left arm goes limp. He <em>twists</em> with every ounce of strength he has left, wrenching the creature to the side so that it’s lying on its back. He brings his other arm down right over its stomach.</p><p>And that’s the end.</p><p>Jaune’s knees collapse beneath him.</p><p>He hears something else, something inorganic – a slight hum that vibrates in his bones. He pushes himself off of the ground and searches the sky.</p><p>There, in the dusty sky, is an airship. A familiar <em>Atlas </em>military transport. Elm and Vine glare at him through open bay doors. The ship gently lands upon the ground.</p><p>Jaune doesn’t necessarily <em>like </em>seeing them again, but… He pulls Oscar back into his arms – his shoulder hates him, but it can deal – and approaches it warily. Elm doesn’t look incredibly enthused to see either of them. Vine… is unreadable.</p><p>The two operatives hop out of their vehicle and meet them halfway.</p><p>“Perhaps Grimm take prisoners after all,” Vine muses once they’re close enough. He looks over the boy in Jaune’s arms and frowns ever so slightly. His semblance activates, and the lamp and Oscar’s cane appear in his hands so quickly it makes Jaune’s head spin.</p><p>Elm steps forward. “We have orders to bring you in,” she says. “You’re to come quietly, or the deal’s off.” She reaches for Oscar as if to take him, and Jaune…</p><p>Jaune <em>panics</em>.</p><p>“Stop!” he cries, shying away from the hands.</p><p>Elm freezes. An inscrutable look settles on her features, and Jaune’s stomach rolls.</p><p>“Stop, I won’t fight you.” He lets out a shaky breath and pleads, “Just please, let me carry him.”</p><p>Oscar’s eyes flitter, and he shifts so that he’s curled further into Jaune’s chest.</p><p>Elm pulls a set of bolas from her belt, and Jaune fights the urge to take a step back. She slowly reaches out once more, but this time, it’s to tap on his wrist. “Can you still hold him with these tied?” she asks.</p><p>Jaune sighs and manipulates Oscar so that his body rests on his upper arms. His wrists and hands poke out into the air. “Are these really necessary?” he asks as she ties them securely around his wrists. It’s a bit awkward – he has to widen his elbows as much as he can and redistribute Oscar’s weight while his shoulder screams bloody murder at him – but he’ll be able to manage. He’s not trusting <em>anyone</em> with his teammate.</p><p>Vine pulls a set of ties from his belt and glances at Elm. She nods her approval, and he steps forward to take Oscar’s wrists into his hands.</p><p>Jaune looks at him beseechingly. “You don’t have to do that,” he says.</p><p>Vine pauses, but his face remains entirely passive.</p><p>He pointedly looks at Oscar’s carefully splinted wrists and back to the operative. “Look, he’s hurt,” Jaune murmurs, “he needs medical attention. I don’t think he can even move them.”</p><p>Vine and Elm glance at each other, and hope blooms in Jaune’s chest. If he can get even a tiny victory…</p><p>“Oscar’s in no condition to fight anyone. Please,” he begs, “you don’t need to restrain him.”</p><p>Oscar’s had enough of that in the past day.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Elm says softly. She sighs as Vine pulls Oscar’s wrists together and loosely ties the bolas around them before setting them back against his chest. “It’s procedure.”</p><p>Jaune swallows his disappointment. He’d thought that maybe they’d be a bit more lenient, all things considered, but… Maybe the ties won’t hurt Oscar’s wrists even further.</p><p>Elm grabs his elbow and steers him into the airship. He goes quietly as promised – he won’t resist so long as he stays with Oscar. He’s not losing anyone else. He’s directed to sit in the center of the empty bench with Oscar settled carefully in his lap.</p><p>The boy shifts again, his legs coming up to curl around Jaune’s chest. He lets out a pained whimper.</p><p>A small gasp comes from the seat across from him. He looks up and notices Winter Schnee sitting on the bench with her hands bound in front of her. He blinks in surprise, glancing around the cabin.</p><p>There’s Harriet sitting at the controls. Elm is coming to sit at his side, and Vine is taking his place beside Winter.</p><p>
  <em>Where’s Marrow?</em>
</p><p>He opens his mouth the ask the question, but a warning look from Winter silences him before he can ask.</p><p>As the airship’s engines whir to life, Jaune desperately hopes that this gamble will pay off.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Of all the things he’s been expecting to happen today, he’s pretty sure <em>Winter Schnee</em> being led into their prison block in <em>handcuffs</em> never even made the list. He stands, his hand shoving Clover’s pin into his pocket, and crosses his cell to stand as close to Robyn as possible. They may not be able to reach through the hard light field separating them, but they can at least give the illusion of a united front.</p><p>A united front might be helpful, from the looks of things. If Jimmy’s willing to arrest his favored specialist…</p><p>“I see James has finally grown bored of you,” Jacq-ass says, a smug smile stretching across his face. He doesn’t move from his seated position as Harriet shoves his daughter into a newly formed cell on Robyn’s other side. “I knew it would happen eventually, you – ”</p><p>“<em>Quiet</em>,” Harriet orders with a snarl. “Or I will <em>make </em>you quiet.”</p><p>The elder Schnee’s mouth snaps shut.</p><p>“Where did you take them?” Winter asks Harriet worriedly when the operative moves to free her wrists. “Is the general keeping his word?”</p><p>Qrow’s gut churns. Did she mean Ruby? Yang? Did he get the kids? He’d hoped that they’d fled Atlas for Vacuo by this point, but if they’d tried to rescue him and gotten caught… He frowns and rubs a hand against his face. They’ve been kept in the dark on what’s going on outside. It’s something big – Jimmy’s pulled their guards, and no one’s come in to interrogate them in a while.</p><p>Harriet steps back. The hard light generators hum to life; Winter’s cell closes. “I’d be more worried about yourself, <em>Schnee</em>. We both know the cost of treason.”</p><p>Qrow cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of anything helpful, but all he can see is the slump in Winter’s shoulders at the operative’s words.</p><p>Harriet storms from the room, and they’re left alone again.</p><p>“Winter Schnee. Treason,” Robyn huffs, dropping onto her cot with a heavy <em>thump.</em> “Now I’ve heard everything.” She crosses her arms and shoves them beneath her head as a make-shift pillow.</p><p>Qrow coughs deliberately. “We can get to that later,” he says. “Ice Queen, what’s going on out there? Who were you talking about?”</p><p>Winter glances up at him, her face inscrutable. Her mouth opens, but she pauses in clear hesitation. After a moment of thought, she says, “Pi – <em>Oscar</em> was taken by Salem at some point. Jaune, Ren, and Yang went into her Grimm to rescue him.”</p><p>Something in Qrow – the old friend, the confidant, <strong><em>she cannot have me, Qrow, you cannot let her have me</em></strong> – breaks a little at the thought of Oz <em>and </em>Oscar with Salem.</p><p><em>Not Oz</em>. <em>Ozpin’s gone, </em>he reminds himself. <em>Ozpin </em>left <em>you.</em></p><p>That just makes him feel worse.</p><p>“But they did it, right?” Robyn asks. She’s pulled herself into a seated position. “They got him out. That’s who you were talking about?”</p><p>Winter’s face finally cracks. “Yes and no,” she says softly. Her eyes close, and she sighs. Her posture goes rigid, and suddenly he’s staring at Winter Schnee, loyal Atlas <em>dog</em> of the military. “General Ironwood ordered the Ace Ops to drop a bomb on Salem’s Grimm. Arc, Ren, and Xiao Long went in alone with the knowledge that we would drop the bomb as soon as it was ready. No delays.”</p><p>Qrow’s stomach drops into his feet. He opens his mouth to ask what they were thinking, why they would let this happen, why <em>his niece </em>and her team were marching into a <em>Grimm </em>– how was that even <em>possible</em> – alone?</p><p>But Winter’s already continued with her “report”. “Despite my and Marrow Amin’s efforts, the bomb went off before the rescue party had entirely cleared the drop zone. Pine and Arc made it out, but…” She visibly tenses. “Xiao Long and Ren are missing.”</p><p>The floor drops out from under Qrow’s feet. <em>What?</em></p><p>Robyn shoots to her feet, spitting out a string of curses as she glares at Winter. “You dropped a bomb on a bunch of <em>kids</em>? Seriously? You Atlas elites are <em>that </em>heartless?”</p><p>The pin in his pocket grows heavy, its weight pulling him down, <em>down </em>to the floor. He’s vaguely aware of someone’s snide laughter ringing in the prison block, but he can’t… He can’t <em>process</em>. Yang. His <em>Firecracker</em>.</p><p>Gone.</p><p>“Atlas was in <em>danger. </em>The general thought it was our best option,” Winter snaps. “They knew what they were doing when they went in there.”</p><p>
  <strong><em>She’s a bit gung-ho, </em>Taiyang says with a rueful grin, <em>a lot like me, actually.</em></strong>
</p><p>“So you decided to blow up <em>four kids</em> because they weren’t fast enough for you?”</p><p>
  <strong>Qrow chuckles. <em>Yeah, well I wouldn’t wish that on </em>anyone<em>. Not after what we went through with you.</em></strong>
</p><p>He remembers the little girl who used to have trouble with her rs. He remembers tiny hands clutching at his pants asking when Mommy was coming home.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Who knows? Maybe Oz will temper it a bit.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Is this his fault? His fingers close around the pin in his pocket. Did he do this?</p><p>
  <strong>The acrid taste of strong alcohol burns lightly on his tongue, but he’d gotten used to it a long time ago. <em>Maybe, </em>he replies, <em>but I doubt it. She’s something special, Tai. Like our own little Firecracker.</em></strong>
</p><p><em>And now she’s burned out</em>, his heart whispers. <em>She’s burned too brightly, and it’s </em>your <em>fault.</em></p><p>“It was an order!”</p><p>He hisses when his finger slips and catches on the pin’s sharp point. He pulls his hand from his pocket. A small drop of blood wells from a shallow wound, and he huffs. More bad luck.</p><p>He blinks. No. He’s wrong.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>You know what you really are? A bunch of sellouts, just like your boss.</em> </strong>
</p><p>This was <em>Ironwood</em>.</p><p>“<em>Shut up</em>,” he snarls, pushing himself up off the floor. “This wasn’t Winter. Not entirely,” he amends when Robyn makes to protest. “The bomb, the plan, that was <em>Ironwood</em>.” His hands clench into fists at his sides. “And he’s not gonna get away with it.”</p><p>He levels a stern glare at Winter. “Tell me <em>everything</em>.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jaune feels the knot of tension in his chest loosen as he realizes exactly where Elm and Vine are taking them. He’s only been in the medical ward a couple of times – mostly to check on his teammates when a mission went sideways – but he’d recognize the cool pristine hallways anywhere. It seems as though Ironwood really <em>is </em>keeping up his end of the deal.</p><p>Elm’s grip leads him through the halls. Every once in a while, he’ll catch glimpses of soldiers in treatment rooms or nurses tending to patients, but there’s no one outside the treatment rooms. Even the nurse’s station, which he remembers to be bustling and full of harried workers, is empty. It’s strange. Eerie, even. Either they’re incredibly busy or –</p><p>The grip on his arm tightens. “This way,” Elm says gruffly, pulling him down a hallway he’s never noticed. Unlike the rest of the ward, this area is more bright, less airy, even by Atlas standards.</p><p>Atlas isn’t exactly the most welcoming of places. Unlike Vale’s rustic yet grandiose architecture and Mistral’s simple opulence, Atlas is white and flawless, a paragon of simplicity and functionality that is beautiful in its own right, but cold and distant in its presentation.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>But when you're placed on a pedestal like that for so long, you become separated from the people that put you there in the first place.</em> </strong>
</p><p>A part of him wonders if that’s more Atlas’s fault than the people’s. Pyrrha wanted and <em>tried</em> to change her image, to make friends and meet new people and experience all the things she’d only read in stories. Atlas, well, Atlas <em>embraced </em>it.</p><p>They pass unmarked door after unmarked door, each one clearly made from heavier steel than the ones in other parts of the ward. The presence of little dark screens – <em>security pads</em>, he thinks darkly – do very little to stem the growing worry gnawing at his insides. It would make sense, he supposes, for them to be placed in a high security area.</p><p>They’re still <em>prisoners</em>, after all.</p><p>They stop outside a room toward the end of the hallway. Vine steps forward and puts his hand over the small pad on the wall. It beeps, and the door smoothly slides open without any further prompting.</p><p>Elm’s fingers leave his arm. “Inside,” she orders, putting a hand at his back.</p><p>He doesn’t put up a fight as she takes Oscar from his arms and set him gently onto the bed in the center of the small room. He barely even moves as Vine frees his wrists from the bolas. He settles wordlessly in a chair in the far corner, and he allows the operative to secure him to cold steel with the cuffs already waiting for him.</p><p>He wants to make this as painless as possible. Anything to get Oscar what he needs.</p><p>“We can move you closer once the doctors are finished checking him over,” Vine says calmly as he slots the first cuff over his right wrist. He quickly locks Jaune’s left into place and then moves onto his ankles. “But you will only be in the way right now.”</p><p>Jaune nods mutely, not trusting himself to speak.</p><p>Vine backs away and looks to Elm. “I believe we are ready,” he informs her with little inflection. “Would you like me to bring Dr. Crabbe?”</p><p>She hums an affirmative. Vine vanishes out the door.</p><p>“He’s the best doctor on our staff,” Elm says after a minute of tense silence. She’s crossed her arms over her chest and is staring at him with more distaste than Jaune would like. “We call him Dr. Know-All. He’ll be able to patch both of you up, and then we can take you to your cell upstairs.”</p><p>The familiar lump of disappointment creeps up his throat. “I don’t get to stay?” he asks softly.</p><p>She shrugs. “That’s up to the general,” she explains. “Right now, our orders say we take you to a holding cell once you’re checked over.”</p><p>The door slides open, and a furious looking man storms into the room like a whirlwind. “ – pulls me from a life-saving surgery for a <em>special patient</em>?” He puts his hands on his hips and shoots Elm a vicious glare. “Our triage center is practically bursting, and you’re bringing me in to clean up after <em>another</em> one of Operative Bree’s overzealous interrogations?”</p><p>“Doctor,” Vine says as he enters the room, “if you would –”</p><p>“You be <em>quiet</em> and show me where you’ve put your barbaric handiwork before I give you <em>another </em>reason to be in <em>my </em>medical ward,” the man, Dr. Crabbe presumably, orders. He glances about the room in agitation, but his entire body freezes when his gaze lands on Oscar. “You didn’t tell me it was a <em>kid</em>,” he practically growls, racing toward the bed with sure, quick steps. His hands reach for the bolas still wrapped around the boy’s wrists and gently pulls them away.</p><p>Jaune watches with rapt fascination as the man’s mouth tightens into a thin line. This doctor – the way he doesn’t hold back his emotions, the way his hands gently roam Oscar’s body, pressing and holding and examining with care even as the rage clearly builds inside of him – it isn’t what he’s come to expect from Atlas military personnel.</p><p>“Me and Jimmy are going to have <em>words</em>,” Dr. Crabbe mutters. He steps back and addresses the two operatives, “I need my nurses in here. I want imaging. Every test, every exam, we’re doing it all. I need to know what I’m working with.” He runs a hand through his sandy blonde hair as Vine exits the room once more. “I don’t know what this kid’s done, and honestly, I don’t want to know,” he says, “but Atlas is better than this.”</p><p>Something curls in Jaune’s stomach, and before he can catch himself, he says, “It wasn’t Atlas.”</p><p>The doctor’s attention turns to him in a flash.</p><p>Jaune is <em>really </em>wishing he could melt into the seat right now. “It was Salem,” he explains, trying <em>very </em>hard not to stutter. “She captured him and –”</p><p>Suddenly Dr. Crabbe is looming over him, his face set in a firm frown. “We can talk about that later,” he says. He glances back at Elm. “Why is one of my patients strapped to an <em>interrogation </em>chair?”</p><p>“He isn’t one of your patients,” Elm replies evenly. “He’s only here until the boy is stabilized, and then he goes into a holding cell.”</p><p>The man’s body goes rigid. “<em>Bull</em>,” he spits, “he’s my patient because I say so, so I’m going to <em>let him loose</em> so I can examine him and that hole in his chest. Then, you’re going to tell the general that I’m keeping him here for observation.”</p><p>A group of nurses walk through the doors and grab Oscar’s bed.</p><p>Dr. Crabbe pulls one of them aside. “Take the kid for everything. I want to know every detail down to what he ate for <em>dinner</em> last night.” He glances down at Jaune pointedly. “And I want another bed in here for this one.”</p><p>Jaune opens his mouth to protest – it’s <em>Oscar </em>who needs the help right now, not him – but the man silences him with a stern look.</p><p>The nurse nods after a moment of hesitation and motions for the others to bring Oscar with them.</p><p>Dr. Crabbe sighs. “You,” he says, pointing at Elm, “out. I need to work in peace, and your glowering isn’t going to help anything.”</p><p>“Doctor, I’m not going to leave you alone with a <em>prisoner</em>,” Elm protests.</p><p>The doctor lets out a low, bitter laugh. “Operative Ederne, I’m surprised this <em>prisoner</em> is even conscious right now. He’s got a gaping hole in his chest, bite marks in his shoulder, and is suffering from <em>severe </em>aura depletion.” He tugs at the cuffs, easily freeing Jaune’s wrists and ankles. “Between my semblance and his injuries, I really don’t think I’m in any danger.”</p><p>He levels Jaune a warning glare. “You’re not going to cause me any problems, right?”</p><p>Jaune mutely shakes his head. Nope. Not happening. This Doctor makes <em>Professor Goodwitch </em>seem warm and fuzzy by comparison.</p><p>“See?” The doctor waves Elm out of the room. “I’m perfectly safe, so get out of my exam room.”</p><p>Elm frowns, but she actually leaves much to Jaune’s surprise. A second bed comes through the door only seconds later, and then strong hands are pulling Jaune from his chair and pushing him insistently onto it.</p><p>For the first time, Dr. Crabbe smiles. “Now,” he says gently, “let’s take a look at you, shall we?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Pain. Brilliant, blinding pain.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>  </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>It isn’t his – her? their? – first time waking </em></strong>(not waking not dreaming what is this what is this) <strong><em>in a world with no light, just blood red walls and darkness. His – her? their? – magic spins just at the edge of their fingertips just out of reach. He – her? they? – crawl forward to chase it and then they’re</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                       falling</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                    falling</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                 falling</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                               falling</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>                                                                                                                                                            falling isn’t such a bad way to go, all things considered. At least she’s – he’s? they’re? – able to see the sky one last time. </em></strong>(last time first time sky what sky just ash and dust and)<strong><em> The last one didn’t even get that much. She – he? they? – close their eyes and let the sun burn</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                              burn</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                               burn</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                              burn</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>                                                                                                                                                                                                            burning oh he’s – she’s? they’re? –  </em>burning </strong>(stop the burning stop the pain why is this happening why why why) <strong><em>and that’s probably the worst way to go. Fire dances around their fingertips, licks at their skin. Ash fills their nostrils, and they can’t…<br/>
</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong>                              <em>dances</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                                  <em>dances</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>                                 dances are silly traditions. They aren’t quite sure how this one came about – probably some </em>Atlas <em>noble wishing to show off a bit – but they must admit that dances can be quite entertaining. They’re quite looking forward </em></strong>(look back stop looking)<strong><em> to the peaceful morning brought about by massive hangovers and far too much dancing. Perhaps it<br/>
</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                    too much</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                    too much</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                too much time </em>wasted. <em>All of it, wasted. What’s the point of trying? What’s the point of a war that </em>can’t be won<em>?</em></strong> (meeting you was the worst luck of my life and it hurts why does it hurt what does it mean it isn’t fair)<strong><em> What… these lives wasted. What was it for?</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong>                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              This is for</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         for you, Oz.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                                                                                                                                                                                                                  for them. The small ball of magic flickers and burns beneath his hand, not that he can feel it and it<em> burns</em>.                                                                                                                 Not him. Not them. No one dies for <em>him</em>. Not today. </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Happy last week of the hiatus!!!! I really hope people liked Dr. Crabbe - I actually based him off of a not-so-well-known Grimm fairytale. If you can tell me what that fairytale is, I'll... I dunno. We'll see. (and phoenix, you don't count)</p><p>So um... I have a tumblr now? Thanks sis... I'm woefully technologically inept, so please forgive me while I work this thing out. If you have any questions, want updates on how chapters are coming along, or want to get to know me you can chat with me there!</p><p>https://www.tumblr.com/blog/trashyinferno</p><p>(Also, my choir director walked into class today and said, "Welcome to the sixth Monday of the week!" And I... yeah, mood.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. OJ > RHYM > Waking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one in which we finally get some answers.</p><p>But not everything :)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welp. I figured, end of January, less than a week before new episode, there's a snowstorm happening right outside my window, I'm in a writing mood, let's see how far into the next chapter I can get before I burn out.</p><p>Well.</p><p>I finished it.</p><p>You're welcome, y'all.</p><p>EDIT:<br/>Me: Puts a giant spoiler in the wrong notes.<br/>Also me: Woefully technologically inept.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Before you go getting any ideas of escaping,” the doctor says as he takes a needle to Jaune’s shoulder wounds, “my semblance is called <em>Knowing</em>. I get feelings, nudges, kind of like a hunch, but unlike some hunches, mine are always correct.” Pale blue eyes glance up with a strange sort of amusement. “Pretty handy for my job, wouldn’t you say? Makes it pretty easy to diagnose patients.”</p><p>Jaune nods silently. He fingers at the bandages wrapped around his chest. He hadn’t even noticed the burns or the hole in his armor. In all honesty, he hadn’t really given his own condition much thought until Dr. Crabbe pointed out how injured he actually was.</p><p>“You don’t talk much,” the doctor observes wryly. “I get that it’s been a long day, kid. But talking to you is like talking to a wall.”</p><p>Jaune shrugs. “You’re… different.” His eyes drop to the floor where his armor – black and scorched and <em>ruined</em> – lies. “Why are you being so friendly?”</p><p>There’s a slight tug on his skin. Dr. Crabbe’s wiry hands come back into view. “You’re my patient,” the man replies lightly. “Do no harm doesn’t just extend to your physical well-being. Besides, I have a hunch that you need a bit of friendliness right now.” The man pauses for a moment before he asks, “Can you tell me what happened to you and your friend?” At Jaune’s flinch, he places a hand on the huntsman’s knee. “I don’t need to know everything. I just need enough to have an idea of what I’m treating.”</p><p>Jaune lifts his eyes to meet the doctor’s. “I…” He bites his lip. “I don’t know where to start,” he admits. There’s just so <em>much</em>. How should he... how <em>can </em>he start?</p><p>The corner of Dr. Crabbe’s mouth quirks into a wry half-grin. “You could start with names.” He taps lightly on Jaune’s chest with his hand. “And how you got this. It’s one heck of a burn.”</p><p>That… Jaune blinks. Simple. Easy. “Jaune Arc,” he replies, information slipping through the haze. “My friend, he’s Oscar Pine. And the burn…” His hand reaches up to tug at the bandages wrapped around his chest. “How much do you know?” he asks.</p><p>The doctor’s eyebrow raises questioningly. “About Salem?” he asks. “Only as much as that huntress said over her broadcast. I figure there’s more to it. If she can control Grimm… There’s something there.”</p><p>The huntsman nods absently. It couldn’t hurt to be honest – especially with Oscar’s condition. “She has magic,” he informs the man, “like the maidens. But more powerful.” The words come out in fitful starts and stops. He can feel it, the burning, stinging, <em>raging</em> waves of pure fire coursing through every part of his body. He remembers his muscles locking. He remembers his heart stuttering. He remembers black and purple and <em>green</em> so much <em>green</em> and <strong><em>all yours</em></strong> and –</p><p>A hand comes to rest on his arm. “Hey, hey kid,” a voice soothes, “it’s alright. Just let it out.”</p><p>“It was lightning,” Jaune rasps through shallow breaths. “She can fire lightning from her hands.” He feels his body curl in on itself involuntarily. Hands grab at his chest, his arms, his legs, his <em>everything</em> and he’s <em>there</em>… “I-I think she did it to Oscar, too. He… he was…” He cuts off with a sharp inhale. “Please help him.”</p><p>“I’ll make a note to check for heart complications,” the voice mutters. There’s a soft ping, and the soft pressure from the hand vanishes. “We’ll do everything we can, but I have to go. Your friend’s scans are in.”</p><p>Jaune’s hazy vision clears somewhat. He looks at the doctor with what must be a very pleading look, because the man smiles softly. “I’ll be back soon. In the meantime, is it alright if I let Operative Ederne back into the room?” At Jaune’s confused look, the man’s smile widens a fraction. “You don’t have to talk to her, and I can ask her to give you some quiet. I’d simply prefer if you weren’t alone right now.”</p><p>That makes sense. Somewhat, anyway. Jaune reluctantly nods his consent, and the doctor quickly exits the room. He’s alone for only a few moments before Elm steps back into the room, a scowl on her face.</p><p>Jaune tenses, waiting for the huntress to snap at him, but nothing comes. Instead, Elm simply stands silently by the door.</p><p>Not what he was expecting, but he’ll take it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>“Why do you do this?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Why do you fight me?</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Breathe. Keep breathing.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You continue to bring children into this conflict.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Trembling hands push him to his knees.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Every muscle in his body <em>burns</em>.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Why does everything keep burning?</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>What’s the point?</em> </strong>
</p><p>(why won’t the world stop burning)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>A hand trails up his thigh, leaving a trail of ice and fire in its wake.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Even now, you turn them against me.” She stands and walks all the way to the back wall where dark arms pin Jaune. The huntsman – student, boy he’s just a boy – squirms, his eyes narrowing in challenge.</strong>
</p><p><strong>In one sickening instant, he knows.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Try me, he whispers to the darkness.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Your face may change, my dear Ozma…”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>My dear Ozma.</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>Hands </em></strong>(reach everywhere grasping) <strong><em>and pulling and pinning </em></strong>(and it <em>hurts</em>) <strong><em>and it’s sickening.</em></strong></p><p>
  <strong>He knows that magic. He knows that pain and he <em>can’t</em>, <em>won’t</em>, let that happen.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>But he can’t move. Not fast enough.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“but it seems that many things remain the same.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>His vision goes white.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Oscar!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And then he’s standing, pulling himself to his feet despite the pain.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Jaune jumps and squirms as electricity</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Electricity jolts in his limbs. He wants</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He wants this to end. The magic flows</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>So easy. It would be so easy</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>easily to his fingertips. It flickers in his</strong>
</p><p>(his arms jerk and push and something in his chest <em>moves </em>and he can’t breathe)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>So easy just to give up. To give up his mission. To give up on humanity.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>hand, emerald, brilliant.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He fires.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>The ball of magic <em>slams </em>into her back.</strong>
</p><p><strong>Her body tenses as emerald electricity ripples along snow white skin.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>The air <em>crackles </em>with power.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>His power.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Oscar, you can’t –</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He needs more.</strong>
</p><p>(he can’t breathe and it <em>scares him</em>)</p><p>
  <strong>“I see you’ve finally awakened your magic.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She walks toward him with quick strides.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“And so quickly, too. This host certainly <em>is </em>talented.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He lets the magic flare dangerously.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He remembers.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He remembers lonely nights.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lost children.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Separation.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Pain.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Happiness.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Companionship.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He – they – remember all of it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Oscar, you have to stop. This is too much, too quickly!</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>And yet, they remember none of it.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Usually, you have some remark or <em>speech </em>for me. I must say I’m surprised.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>She stops just in front of him, her mouth turned into a smug smile.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“You were so talkative earlier.”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>You will not hurt our children again, </em>something ancient and powerful whispers.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>You will not hurt our students, </em>something softer, wearier, continues.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong><em>You will not hurt our friends, </em>the latest of them finishes.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>“Ozma?”</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Only they can harm her that way.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Ozma</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Ozma.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Are they Ozma?</strong>
</p><p><strong> <em>Not quite.</em> </strong> </p><p>
  <strong>They let a small, weary smile – one not quite Oz, not quite Oscar – stretch across their face.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Lifetimes upon lifetimes of Not Quites.</strong>
</p><p><strong>What’s one more?</strong> </p><p>(the hands are back no matter how he tries to get away)</p><p>
  <strong>“Not quite.”</strong>
</p><p>(something pinches his arm he has to get away he has to</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He wakes to the feeling of swaying. Which is <em>kinda </em>weird because he was sleeping and <em>oh that’s an arm wrapped around his waist this is weird –</em></p><p>“Look who’s awake,” a familiar voice says teasingly. It barely registers over the ringing in his ears.</p><p>He blinks his eyes open and can’t help the hiss that escapes his throat. “Where am I?” he mutters, pulling a hand – both hands, actually – to his face. Drums pound angrily in his head.</p><p>“Mantle,” another voice, this one closer, <em>beneath him</em>, says. It’s a deep voice, one that rumbles like thunder through his body. Marrow doesn’t recognize it.</p><p>Now that he’s mostly awake, he can see and feel that he’s being carried like a sack over someone’s shoulder. His wrists are tied together with gravity bolas – probably his own – and he’s got the perfect view of… his heart stops.</p><p>Yang Xiao Long waves at him, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. She’s missing an arm – her prosthetic, thankfully – and has more than a few bruises, but she’s here and <em>alive </em>and he <em>did it!</em></p><p>He struggles a bit to pull himself up and at least make this conversation somewhat less embarrassing, but the arm wrapped around his midsection tightens in warning.</p><p>“Kid,” the voice rumbles, “if you keep squirming, I’m going to drop you.”</p><p>“You could let me down,” Marrow replies darkly. “I’m awake now.” The arm around his waist vanishes; he tumbles into the snow with a loud <em>squawk</em>. “Really?” he asks indignantly, awkwardly rubbing his hands against his sore backside.</p><p> “He did warn you,” a new voice, <em>Ren</em>, reminds him.</p><p>Marrow searches for the source of the voice and finally settles the limp figure wrapped in the man’s – is that <em>Hazel Rainart</em> – other arm.</p><p>Ren stares at him with a bored look.</p><p>Hazel just… scowls. Like his wanted poster.</p><p>Yeah, Marrow’s still working on <em>Hazel Rainart </em>lugging him and Ren around like they’re luggage. He gapes, his mouth opening and closing like an <em>idiot</em>. “H-How? How did you – ?”</p><p>Yang scowls. “Look, we’ll tell you everything on the way, and then you can tell us what you were doing on the back of a Schnee summon in the middle of a warzone,” she says, pulling Marrow to his feet. “Deal?”</p><p>He barely registers the fact that he needs to nod, <em>should </em>be nodding, <em>this is all too weird</em>…</p><p>“I asked you if we had a deal,” she says impatiently.</p><p>Right. Deal. He nods with a few jerks of his head.</p><p>So, they walk.</p><p>“The short of it is,” Yang begins, her hand waving in the air as she talks, “Ren and I stayed behind while Oscar and Jaune escaped. Both of us were injured, and we wouldn’t be much help, anyway.</p><p>“Well, the two-hour mark was about to hit. We were just… waiting for the <em>BOOM </em>at that point,” she mimes an explosion with her hand, “and then this guy comes barreling into the warzone about twenty minutes <em>late</em>.”</p><p>Hazel bristles at the accusation. Marrow almost expects him to lash out or snap at her, but he makes no move to do so.</p><p>She continues, “I realized that he’s strong enough to carry Ren, and then I remembered Ruby and Weiss and this <em>Nevermore</em> from our initiation and… well…” She pauses, her eyes bright. A slightly crazed smile crosses her face. “We might have flown down here on the back of a Beringel.” The smile disappears, and she asks, “So what happened to you? We saw your ride falling after the blast – nice work with the semblance, by the way, stopping your fall like that must have taken a lot of energy – and managed to catch you before you ate it.”</p><p>Marrow turns his gaze to the ground, suddenly very uncomfortable. How do you say what he did aloud and<em> not </em>feel uncomfortable? “I tried to stop the bomb,” he admits, shame coiling in his stomach. “I tried to give you more time. I – Winter, she – she helped me escape with a summon.”</p><p>A hand shoves at his shoulder. “Hey, don’t look so down,” Yang says. “It worked, didn’t it? We’re probably alive because of you.”</p><p>He looks up, his eyes burning painfully at the corners. Yes, they’re alive and that’s <em>good</em> but he’s betrayed his home, his <em>team</em>. Familiar doubt curls in his chest. Did he make the right choice? Was betraying Atlas worth it?</p><p><em>Would it have been worth betraying your heart? </em>his mind whispers. <em>Could you have lived with yourself?</em></p><p>He shoves the thoughts and ugly emotions down, <em>way down</em>, into the lower levels of his mind. There will be time to analyze and worry once they get to… “Where are we going?”</p><p>“Polendina’s Pharmacy,” Yang replies lightly. “I need a new prosthetic, and those two,” she points to Hazel and Ren, “need some patching up.” She looks up into the sky, her gaze focused on the tiny floating form of Amity Colosseum. “We’re also hoping that Jaune and Oscar managed to get to the doctor and will catch up with us.” She looks back at him and nods to the ties around his wrists. “We’ll take those off when we get there. I believe your story, but better safe than sorry, right?”</p><p>He nods absently. Polendina’s Pharmacy. He’s never been there himself, but he’s heard about it from some of his friends still living down here.</p><p>Marrow glances at the empty, eerily quiet, buildings that line the street they’re following. He’s not used to Mantle being this quiet. Even on the worst days when the cold was so terrible even the heaters couldn’t keep it at bay, the city was <em>alive</em>. Now it looks… sad, hollowed out like someone’s stolen its heart.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Keep heart, my son. Keep heart and know that one day, you will be more than this.</em> </strong>
</p><p>The sound of snow <em>crunching </em>beneath his feet echoes in the silence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s a long time – <em>too long</em> – before Dr. Crabbe returns. The man’s broad shoulders sag with exhaustion; his face is set in a deep frown. He walks into the room with purpose, directing the nurses behind him to wheel the second bed, the one from before, next to Jaune’s.</p><p>Jaune pulls himself into a seated position, wincing as the movement pulls at his stitches. There’s a flurry of activity as nurses position all sorts of machines and monitors around the second bed. He struggles to see through the bodies – <em>Oscar, where’s Oscar?</em> – but there’s nothing but white and blue and <em>people</em>.</p><p>A hand comes to rest on his shoulder. “You stay in that bed or I’ll strap you to it,” the doctor’s voice says with a hint of warning. “Give us a second.”</p><p>True to his word, the nurses file out of the room a few moments later.</p><p>Jaune leans as far as he can toward the other bed. Beyond its rails, beyond the monitors and machines and tubes and wires, is Oscar. The boy’s eyes are closed. His face is smooth, <em>young</em>, as he sleeps peacefully. He looks so small and weak, and Jaune is suddenly very aware that Oscar is only fourteen. <em>Fourteen</em> and he’s been…</p><p>“Hey,” Dr. Crabbe says, pulling on Jaune’s shoulders so that he’s not facing the bed anymore, “Oscar’s going to be alright.” A mixture of pity and sorrow settles on his face as he asks, “Would you like me to tell you what happened?”</p><p>Jaune nods silently. His stomach twists painfully in apprehension, but he wants, <em>needs</em>, to know.</p><p>“Your friend’s been through the ringer. Blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen resulting in broken ribs and bruising. There’s the burn from the lightning, and he’s got a bit of an arrhythmia in his heart,” the doctor explains. Jaune’s worry must show on his face, because the man is quick to say, “It’ll likely go away in about a day, so no need to worry about his huntsman career.” He pauses for a second, his face darkening. “He started to wake up while we were moving him, and one of his ribs punctured a lung. We had to take him into surgery. It’ll be a bit before he wakes up again.”</p><p>“But… he’ll be okay? He’s not –” Jaune tries to push the thoughts and images – Oscar dead, Pyrrha and <strong><em>I’m sorry </em></strong>and <strong><em>not quite – </em></strong>from his mind.</p><p>The hands on his shoulders squeeze gently. “Kid, I just told you he’s going to be alright. He just gave us a heck of a scare.” He grins. “In fact, I have a hunch he’ll be waking up here soon, actually. Quicker than I was expecting, but he’s stubborn.” He pulls his hands from Jaune’s shoulders and hops off the bed. “I’ll be back to check in on you both in a couple of hours. Don’t you dare leave that bed,” he orders.</p><p>Jaune wants to protest. He wants to defy the order and hop into that other bed just to hold his friend in his arms and revel in his relief. He wants to walk out of this place whole and <em>healthy </em>and…</p><p>Dr. Crabbe levels a stern glare at him. “Look, kid, the only reason you’re not cuffed to that bed right now is because I’ve managed to convince your guard that you won’t try anything funny. You take one foot off of that bed, and those cuffs will be on you faster than you can say <em>“ow”</em>. Are we clear?”</p><p>Jaune can’t stop the way his face scrunches up in disgust at the idea, but he nods anyway.</p><p>“I don’t like any of this. I think you’re both too young to be treated like criminals.” Crabbe sighs, the sternness shifting into exhaustion once more. “But I’m not going against Jimmy. Not right now, anyway.” He turns toward the door. “All I can do is make sure you’re as comfortable as possible.”</p><p>And then he’s gone.</p><p>It’s just Jaune, Elm, and Oscar.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Coming back to consciousness is like swimming through molasses – slow, <em>sluggish</em>.</p><p>Drugged. Distaste cuts through the foggy sensation in his mind. He hates being <em>drugged</em>.</p><p>Sensations come in a leisurely manner. Dryness in his mouth. Soft coolness beneath his body. Something moderately tight wrapped around his chest. Soreness in his limbs.</p><p>His eyes open.</p><p>Where, exactly, is he?</p><p>
  <strong> <em>All yours.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Oh, right.</p><p>“Oscar?” a voice asks hesitantly.</p><p>It takes a fair amount of effort to turn his head and <em>look</em> at the speaker.</p><p>“A-Are you… uh, you?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Questions, comments, concerns? Drop a comment here or come ask on my tumblr! :)</p><p>https://trashyinferno.tumblr.com/</p><p>Um... Yeah, I can't think of anything else to say :)</p><p>EDIT:<br/>Me: Writes that Yang lost her prosthetic.<br/>Also me: Idiot who writes that she's using both hands in the chapter.</p><p>It's fixed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. OJ > RHYM > Confrontation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one in which no one's happy.</p><p>Seems to be a running theme, huh?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, this was supposed to end on a VERY different note, but then we hit 5k and I went: I can't keep adding to this. I just... can't keep adding. So, the important story beats I wanted to hit will happen next chapter! Oops.</p><p>But we get some important conversations, so... :) (I know y'all have been waiting for one in particular.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oscar?” Jaune asks cautiously. He tries to squash the hope rising in his chest as his friend stirs back into consciousness. Clean, durable bandages creak with every small movement.</p><p>The boy turns his head ever so slightly. Hazel eyes open in recognition, and Jaune’s heart flutters.</p><p>“A-Are you…” He trails awkwardly. The question feels strangely <em>personal</em>, especially with Elm glaring quietly from her corner. She pulls her scroll from her pocket and types a quick message. “Uh, you?”</p><p>Oscar blinks, then smiles thinly with amusement. “I see you still have a way with words, Mr. Arc,” he quips.</p><p>He can almost <em>hear</em> his heart break. No, <em>shatter</em>. It shatters into thousands of little scraping pieces that tear and rend through his chest.</p><p>He’s <em>failed. </em>He’s lost and failed <em>all </em>of them, and he… He has to know. “I – uh, guess I should be thanking you,” he says after a moment of silence. “For saving us back there.”</p><p>“I’m not sure what you think <em>I </em>did,” Professor Ozpin replies, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “I didn’t do much of anything back on that Grimm. In fact, I’m fairly certain that <em>you </em>were the one doing the saving.”</p><p>Jaune blinks in surprise. “But, Professor, the magic. That was you, right?”</p><p>The professor sighs. A flicker of pain flashes across his features, and Jaune fights the urge to reach across the small gap between their beds. His semblance itches beneath his palms in <em>need</em>. He wants, needs, to use it. To <em>heal</em>. He’s capable.</p><p>But, he glances at Elm warily, he doesn’t want to get either of them in trouble.</p><p>“Mr. Arc, I stopped being your professor when you became a huntsman,” the wizard says. His eyes close; his face falls into an unhappy frown. “If I am honest with myself, I lost the title of professor when Beacon fell. For now, I believe Ozpin or Oz will suffice.” His eyes open, and then he’s looking at Jaune with a concerned expression. “As for the magic…” His eyes soften just a bit. “That was entirely Oscar.”</p><p>For a moment, Jaune can only gape, his mind reeling from the sheer <em>pride</em> in Ozpin’s voice. He’d thought… “Pro – <em>Ozpin</em>, what about the merge? If you’re here –”</p><p>Ozpin coughs weakly. “Magic,” he says between shallow breaths, “comes with memories. The more memories Oscar gains from the merge, the more magic he is capable of using.” His splinted – <em>properly splinted </em>– hand twitches feebly on white sheets. “In his attempt to save you, Oscar forcefully accelerated the merge to gain more magic. The resulting memories have overwhelmed him.” His face shifts into a forlorn expression. “He’s… lost, for lack of a better term.”<br/><br/>Familiar anger flares brightly in Jaune’s chest. “So go find him and bring him back!” he orders. “You owe him that much, after you left him!”</p><p><em>After you left us</em> is something that doesn’t need to be said.</p><p>“I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” Ozpin murmurs. The weary, shamed expression on his – <em>Oscar’s</em> – face looks so foreign, so <em>wrong</em>. “His mind has retreated under the strain of the merge. I –” Another cough wracks Oscar’s small frame. “I cannot reach him when he’s buried himself so deeply in our mind.”</p><p>“But – He’ll come back, right?” Jaune asks worriedly. He clutches at the bedsheets. “He’s not gone.”</p><p>A soft smile flickers across Ozpin’s features. “Even if the merge were complete, Oscar wouldn’t be <em>gone</em>.” He sighs. “He’d certainly be <em>changed</em>, but not gone.”</p><p>He opens his mouth to ask his next question, but Ozpin interrupts before he can speak. “I must ask,” the wizard says, his voice almost a whisper, “where are Miss Xiao Long and Mr. Ren?”</p><p>Jaune’s voice catches painfully in his throat. He can see Elm shift slightly out the corner of his eye. His eyes drop to the bed as shame and loathing wrench painfully in his gut. “They didn’t make it out of the Grimm in time,” he says softly. He cringes at the way his voice wobbles. “Salem was reforming too quickly, and she’d called so many Grimm…” Wetness pools at the corners of his eyes; he banishes them with a shake of his head. “Yang and Ren were injured. So they – I left them. I grabbed Oscar, and I ran,” he admits sadly. He lets out a shuddering breath. “Not much of a huntsman, am I?”</p><p>There’s a pause, and then, “On the contrary, I believe that in that moment, you were more of a huntsman than you believe yourself to be.”</p><p>Jaune’s head snaps up, his mouth opening to make his protests, but Ozpin’s gentle smile halts his thoughts. “Mr. Arc, when your <em>obviously</em> fake transcripts came across my desk, I had half a mind to reject you outright.” His eyes soften just enough to allow sorrow shine through the mask of mirth. “However, I have learned in my many years on this earth that it is those who are desperate for knowledge who shine brightest – it <em>is </em>why I accepted the Branwen twins, after all.”</p><p>His eyes close, and for a moment, just a tiny moment, a flicker of <em>Oscar</em> – the slight twitch in the eye, the furrowed brow that comes when the boy is trying to put his thoughts together – peeks through Ozpin’s quiet pondering. “Being a huntsman isn’t simply about combat ability, it’s about having the mind to make hard decisions, both for yourself <em>and </em>others. Yang and Ren made their choice to remain on that Grimm, just as <em>you </em>made the choice to leave.” He pauses for a moment, his arms twitching slightly. “Ja – <em>Mr. Arc</em>, after seeing your abilities and conduct firsthand, I believe that I made the correct choice in admitting you to Beacon. I –”</p><p>Ozpin’s voice breaks off as the door to their room hisses open.</p><p>“Ederne,” Ironwood says as he enters the room, his attention focused solely on the operative, “you said there’d been a change?” His gaze sweeps over the room, settling for a second on Jaune before it moves to Ozpin. There’s a glint of something –<em> regret? sympathy? </em>– in his eyes as he takes in the small form on the bed.</p><p>Jaune definitely sees the way Ozpin’s face hardens under the general’s scrutiny. This is…</p><p>There’s a beat of silence, and Ozpin says, “James, I believe we should have a <em>talk</em>.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>In the bright afternoon light, Mantle looks… almost <em>normal</em>, like there isn’t a war raging in the clouds. Light glints off of white powdery snow piled along the road. The buildings in this area are largely untouched – if it weren’t for the lack of people, almost any passing visitor might think that this is what Mantle is like all the time.</p><p>It’s unsettling. Painfully familiar, even. Yang shakes the hollow, empty, <em>tiredness </em>from her mind. This isn’t Brunswick. The people aren’t dead in their <em>beds</em>. They’re simply… not here.</p><p>A gust of wind tears at her jacket. <em>Fetch </em>thumps heavily against her shoulder blade, her hastily made sling not doing much to keep it in place. Her empty sleeve brushes against her exposed port, and she hisses in pain at the rough contact. She hasn’t had the courage to actually pull off her jacket and examine her elbow – she’s sure whatever is left isn’t exactly pretty.</p><p><strong><em>You never had a chance</em></strong>.</p><p>She shudders. <em>Not the time to be thinking about this</em>, she reminds herself. <em>Get to the pharmacy. Think about it later.</em></p><p>Think about it later. Seems like that’s all she’s been telling herself since this mess started two days ago.</p><p>Two days. Has it really only been <em>two days</em>?</p><p>“We’re here,” Ren says from ahead of her.</p><p>She halts and looks skyward. Sure enough, the cracked green cross blinks pitifully above Hazel’s massive frame. She smiles encouragingly at Marrow, who looks like he’s very unsure about this whole thing, and skirts around to the front of the group.</p><p>The clinic looks… well, it looks like it’s seen better days. The door is conspicuously absent, like someone or <em>something </em>has ripped the metal slab right off its hinges. She peers cautiously into the room, <em>Ember Celica </em>at the ready. The soldiers that had been here previously are gone – probably recalled to Atlas – but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone lurking in the shadows somewhere.</p><p>Yang takes one step, then another, and can’t help flinching when the automatic lights flicker brightly before calming to a dim glow. She frowns slightly when something crunches beneath her foot. She glances down and sighs at the sight of Polendina’s “Days Since Last Nonsense” sign broken into large black shards on the floor.</p><p>“Come on in,” she calls to the rest of the group. “Looks like no one’s around.”</p><p>And it’s true. If anyone was here, they’re likely long gone by this point. If the clinic had looked like it had been through a storm before, it looks like it’s been through a <em>tornado </em>now. Papers – patient files, schematics – lay haphazardly all over the wooden floors. The doctor’s desk is cracked into two large wooden chunks. The cabinets along the walls lay open and empty. A part of Yang wonders if this was a fool’s errand. Is there anything <em>left</em>?</p><p>“Is there somewhere to put him?” Hazel asks, walking to stand beside her. He looks down at Ren with an annoyed expression and adjusts his grip on the huntsman’s waist.</p><p>Ren’s face is serene, his eyes closed and mouth in a neutral expression. Yang has seen it before – it’s the face Ren makes when he’s meditating during one of their training sessions.</p><p>Something tells her Hazel isn’t the only one not entirely enthused about the arrangement.</p><p>She fights to hide the twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth and gestures to the relatively intact exam beds in the clinic’s back left corner. “Over there should be fine. Then we can start looking for supplies.”</p><p>Someone coughs lightly behind her. She glances back at Marrow, who shifts awkwardly just inside the door. “Uh,” he says, lifting his hands in front of him with a weak smile, “could I have these off? Please?” He glances nervously about the clinic. “I can help find things. And do first aid. And stuff.” He cringes, a bright red flush creeping up into his cheeks.</p><p>Yang stifles the chuckle threatening to burst from her chest and motions him to come closer. Deactivating the gravity bolas isn’t very easy with one hand, but Marrow is very patient with her as she pries at the ropes with stiff fingers. Between his wriggling and her hand, the two of them manage to get the bolas off without wasting <em>too much </em>time.</p><p>Marrow rubs at his wrists and smiles gratefully. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He motions for the weapon strapped to her back. “I – can I have that back?” he asks.</p><p>Yang throws a quick glance at the handle peeking over her shoulder. She really shouldn’t but… She bites her lip and nods, turning so that he can pull <em>Fetch </em>from its harness. She rolls the soreness from her shoulders when the weight leaves them. “Just don’t try and arrest us or anything,” she warns as she turns to face him. “You won’t like the results.”</p><p>The operative’s hands go up in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he remarks with a wry grin. “I’m just as much of a fugitive as you are, right now.”</p><p>She nods. “Good. Start looking for anything we can use as bandages,” she orders him. “It looks like looters already picked most of this place clean, but they might have missed something.”</p><p>A wet <em>pop</em> and a loud grunt of pain rip through their conversation.</p><p>Yang’s head whips in the direction of the examination area. Hazel stands over Ren, his face screwed into a look of concentration. Ren’s hands clutch at Hazel’s shoulders; he shudders ever so slightly, his lip caught between his teeth. He sways dangerously for a moment, looking as if he’s going to fall off of the bed.</p><p>“Is everything alright over there?” Yang calls worriedly.</p><p>Hazel’s mouth falls into his usual scowl as he pulls away from Ren. “His ankle was dislocated,” he says with a small shrug. “I relocated it.”</p><p>Ren simply nods, but the pained expression on his face doesn’t change.</p><p>Yang sighs and shakes her head. “Well,” she says, her hand coming up to rest on her hip, “you think you can help us find what we need to patch you up?” She looks pointedly at a nasty cut lining his arm. “I get that you have a semblance that no-sells pain, but you still bleed.”</p><p>The man stares at her, his face painfully neutral, but he starts moving towards the nearest shelves, so Yang is pretty sure that’s a yes.</p><p>Marrow moves silently from her side and takes his own set of shelves along the wall to her right.</p><p><em>Well then.</em> She shrugs at Ren and busies herself with searching along her own wall. The room falls into a busy kind of silence, and Yang lets herself settle into the busywork.</p><p><em>There’ll be time for thinking later</em>, she tells herself. <em>There will be time.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>Bright laughter rings in the pleasant afternoon air. It has been a quiet few weeks – the Grimm haven’t attacked since the last raid, and the village’s crops are starting to truly prosper. There might even be a harvest festival this year. He smiles to himself as a small group of children race past, their excited shrieks only slightly grate at his ears.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He likes Argus. He likes the light and the <em>life </em>here - the happiness and the joy and the <em>confidence...</em> He kicks at a loose pebble and watches it bounce down the street. He just wishes he didn't feel so lost.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>How do we even know it's really him?</em> </strong>
</p><p><strong>He stares down at his hands. This is usually the point when Oz gives him some sort of direction. The point when</strong> </p><p>
  <strong><em>" - when she comes, and she will, you must take the girls and </em>go,” <em>he warns, taking her hands into his own.</em></strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>She stares at him with a mixture of fear and disbelief, but she finally nods. “I understand,” she murmurs softly. She leans her forehead against his. “I wish I did not, but I understand.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>(<em>concern worry comfort </em>filter through and he pushes, <em>forces</em> it out)</p><p><strong>A brisk breeze pushes at his cotton shirt. He involuntarily shivers at the sudden chill and sighs. His workwear, while comfortable and great at wicking away sweat on hot Mistrali days, isn’t exactly meant for colder climates. He needs something a bit heavier – huntsman gear, probably – if he’s going to Atlas.</strong> </p><p>
  <strong>He stops, his eyes narrowing. <em>Is </em>he going to Atlas? No one seems to want him around, and Oz isn’t in his head to tell him no. In fact, it seems as though Oz doesn’t want to be here any more than Oscar. He could just… leave.</strong>
</p><p>(out out <em>out</em> get out)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“Daddy!” A small hand grabs at the end of the cane. Bright silver eyes shine with excitement and curiosity. “Teach me! I wanna fight the Grimm, too!”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Something in his heart wrenches at the sight.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>I could, if you would like. So that you do not have to.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>No, <em>he replies, smiling at the small – too small, too young for her burden – girl. </em>I want to do everything I can before… Before I go. <em>He reaches down with a hand to grasp hers. </em>I know you can feel it. It will be soon.</strong>
</p><p>(stop stop just leave leave <em>leave</em>)</p><p>
  <strong>But here… here he has <em>purpose</em>. Something beyond being a farmhand. Something beyond being <em>Oscar Pine</em>, and despite how much that scares him – how much it keeps him awake and worried and <em>afraid</em> – he knows that he doesn’t, <em>can’t</em>, regret accepting it.</strong>
</p><p>(leave me <em>alone</em>)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Silver eyes flash dangerously. “Are you sure you want to go again, Old Man?” their daughter says with a smug smirk. “I don’t think you can take another thrashing like that one.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>While their younger daughter has not taken much to fighting, their elder child spends more time training with her billhook than with her books. Their heart aches.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>This isn’t what they wanted.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>They raise The Long Memory – a bit of poor humor on their part – in the air and charge.</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>So maybe – maybe he’ll do what he can, for now. Whatever he can with whatever time he has left.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>He tries to ignore how <em>right </em>that feels, tries to ignore the assurance and confidence pooling in his gut.</strong>
</p><p><strong>What if it isn’t <em>his</em>?</strong> </p><p>(what if it never was)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Marrow’s brow furrows as he pulls another cabinet open to reveal more empty shelves. At this point, he’s seriously starting to doubt that the looters have left anything untouched. The odds of them finding anything useful are low. He moves on to the next cabinet and finds it in a similar state.</p><p>He sighs and rubs at his face with a hand. Ren needs a splint for his ankle; Rainart’s in danger of bleeding out. He doesn’t even want to <em>think </em>about the mess Yang’s port is in – he’s seen what it looks like when a Grimm forcibly yanks a prosthetic from a limb, and it’s never pretty.</p><p>“Ha!” Yang crows behind him.</p><p>He turns to face her and doesn’t even bother to hide the grin that breaks across his face when he sees the roll of bandages clutched in her good hand. It’s just a roll of bandages, but it’s better than nothing.</p><p>She waves the roll in the air and says, “There’s more over here, too! The door was locked, so I don’t think anyone was able to get in here.” She dives back into the small room and comes out with a few more rolls of bandages and some medical splints.</p><p>Marrow darts forward to take the small pile of supplies before they can fall from her arm. “I’ll get started on Ren,” he says. He glances up at Rainart, who’s decided to join them at some point. “You two keep looking.”</p><p>He doesn’t wait for a response, choosing instead to get himself out from beneath the giant man’s glare as quickly as he possibly can. There’s just something so <em>wrong </em>about this entire situation. Hazel Rainart, <em>helping them</em>. He remembers staring at the man’s poster during their early briefings, the way Pine would flinch every time the man’s name came into the conversation. He remembers footage from Haven Academy – the sheer <em>rage </em>on the man’s face as he ran around with <em>chunks of dust coming out of his arms</em>. He remembers thinking that Rainart could literally snap him in half with his bare hands if he wanted to.</p><p>Ren’s eyes open upon his approach. The huntsman doesn’t say anything; he merely moves his legs slightly so that Marrow can get a better look at his ankle. It… well, it doesn’t look good. He hasn’t seen an ankle this swollen since Harriet’s bad tumble last year, and that one involved more than just a dislocation. The skin around the joint has an ugly purple tint to it, and it’s clear that something is probably broken – maybe even a torn muscle if Ren is <em>really</em> unlucky.</p><p><em>Good thing Branwen wasn’t around when this happened, </em>he thinks to himself as he places the two padded splints on either side of Ren’s ankle. He pushes the grief threatening to creep up his throat at the thought of Qrow Branwen deep into the back of his mind. He gently holds the two pieces of padding in place with a hand and winces at Ren’s sharp hiss of pain. A flare of pink ripples across the huntsman’s skin. <em>At least his aura is working.</em> Marrow wraps one of the two rolls of bandages around the splints with slow, careful movements.</p><p><em>You want consistent pressure, </em>his internal Elm reminds him, <em>but not too much. The muscles need room to breathe.</em></p><p>He looks up at Ren once he’s finished with the first roll. “How’s that?” he asks. “Too tight?”</p><p>“No,” Ren replies, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The ankle in Marrow’s hands twitches slightly, and the eyes relax. “That should be fine.”</p><p>Marrow nods. Even a little movement is a good sign. He deftly wraps the rest of the bandages around the area. He knows that Ren’s aura manipulation is better than most elite huntsmen – almost as good a <em>Vine’s</em>, and that’s saying something. He’s not sure how much weight the ankle will be able to take when it’s time to get moving again, but he’s hoping that between this and Ren’s abilities, the huntsman will at least be able to hobble under his own power.</p><p>His job done, Marrow stands and stretches his sore muscles. Crouching like that did <em>nothing </em>for his tired body.</p><p>A hand lands on his shoulder, and Marrow turns to follow it. He’s greeted by a smiling Yang, a silver, slightly singed prosthetic arm in her hand. “Found this in a box. Probably someone’s old model.” She jerks her head at Rainart, who towers over them both as menacingly as always – Marrow’s tail is <em>not drooping </em>it’s <em>not</em> – and says, “Help me attach it while he patches himself up? Then we can talk about what’s next.”</p><p>Marrow glances at Rainart. “Are you sure you can do that by yourself?” he asks. “Some of those scratches look pretty deep.” Internally, he cringes. <em>Sure, imply that the giant murderous villain is helpless. </em>That’s <em>not going to get you killed.</em></p><p>Rainart huffs, his scowl deepening. “I’m sure. Used to doing this myself.” He lumbers off to the bed in the corner – the farthest one from Ren’s, Marrow notes – and begins pulling supplies from the small med kit he must have found with Yang.</p><p>Yang hops onto her own bed and puts the prosthetic at her side. She starts pulling at her jacket, wincing as her empty sleeve falls from what’s left of her arm. Her face falls when she sees the port. “That’s not good,” she murmurs to herself as she pokes and prods at the silver metal.</p><p>The port itself – where it’s attached to the organic part of Yang’s arm – is fully intact. There doesn’t seem to be any warping in the silver metal, and the skin doesn’t look pulled. Everything below that, however, is a mangled mass of wires and shards of yellow metal. No one’s told Marrow <em>exactly </em>how they managed to get this banged up, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say that Yang’s prosthetic was forcibly <em>ripped </em>from her arm by something other than a Grimm. With a Grimm, there’d be more of the prosthetic left behind. But this… the shards left hanging from the wires are smaller, sharper –  like something has torn the metal rather than pierced it. And that something was methodical. Planned.</p><p>He wants to ask, he <em>does</em>, but he’s not really sure he wants to know the answer. “Can we even attach this?” he asks, gesturing to the prosthetic. “There’s so much damage. I think we need someone who actually specializes in repairing –”</p><p>“Marrow,” Yang interrupts with a small smile, “please. Just try.”</p><p>It’s slow going. Marrow has to carefully weave the colorful wires out of the tangled snarling mass without pulling on them too harshly. If he isn’t painstakingly meticulous, he could cause more damage or even hurt Yang, which is something he <em>really </em>doesn’t want to do. Every few wires, he releases a small piece of metal from the knot and gently pulls it from the port. He does his best to ignore the feeling of Ren’s watchful eyes boring holes through him as he works.</p><p>His stomach rolls nervously. He gets the feeling that Yang’s teammate won’t be very forgiving if he screws this up.</p><p>That’s a lovely thought.</p><p>He swallows and continues, his hands trembling only <em>slightly</em>. It takes more time than he would like, much, <em>much </em>more time than he would like, but the last piece of metal slips from the wires easily. The port still doesn’t look <em>great</em> – there’s some paneling missing, and one wire looks like it’s seen better days – but it might be serviceable. Might. Marrow really isn’t holding out much hope.</p><p>He grabs the prosthetic and examines its connector. Normally, he’d simply press the connector and the port to each other and let the machinery do the rest, but… He glances at Yang’s port nervously. He’s going to have to thread the wires from the port into the connector <em>manually </em>which is going to be really <em>really </em>difficult.</p><p>Fun.</p><p>“This, uh, might hurt a bit,” he warns Yang with an apologetic look.</p><p>She waves him off with her good arm. “Don’t worry about it. Can’t be more painful than losing it in the first place,” she says lightly.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Marrow sees Ren flinch ever so slightly. He shakes it off – <em>not your problem right now – </em>and takes the first of many wires into his hand.</p><p><em>Focus on the mission</em>, Harriet’s voice orders. <em>The mission is all that matters.</em></p><p>So, Marrow works, threading tiny wires through even smaller holes and wondering, not for the first time, <em>how </em>he got into this situation.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Blue. It’s never struck him how <em>blue </em>James’ eyes truly are, but as he stares into them with all the fury of a protector, it is the only conscious thought running through his mind.</p><p>The rest of him, the tiny, precious parts of him that remember falling and magic and <em>fear</em> howl one word: <em>run.</em></p><p>Their tense stalemate finally breaks when a vaguely familiar middle-aged man in a white coat enters the room.</p><p>“Jim,” the doctor says as he comes to stand in front of James, his hands on his hips, “this boy is here to <em>recover</em>. Glowering at him goes against that, don’t you think?”</p><p>The general’s eyes don’t leave Ozpin. “It’s <em>General</em>, Crabbe,” he snaps. “Remember that.”</p><p>And all at once, Ozpin remembers the young doctor who argued with him quite vociferously the first time he’d come to Atlas during his lifetime.</p><p>“<em>General</em>,” the doctor says, his voice dripping with venom, “I am only going to ask this once, so please, stand <em>down</em>. If you continue to display hostility toward my patients, I will have to ask you to leave.”<br/><br/><em>That </em>catches James’ attention. He blinks, and the hard, commanding expression recedes just a hair, enough to at least look less like he’s trying to eviscerate Oscar with his eyes and more like he’s trying to incinerate him instead.</p><p>Which, Ozpin will admit isn’t much better.</p><p>At least it’s less violent.</p><p>“Look, I know you want to do a debriefing or whatever,” Jaune says as Crabbe comes up beside Ozpin and shines a bright light in his eyes, “but he just woke up. Maybe it can wait?”</p><p>Ozpin does his best to stay still so that the examination will end more quickly, but he finally hisses his displeasure when the doctor prods gently at his side.</p><p>James’ brow furrows. “Why is he still here?” he asks, turning his head enough to send Operative Ederne a scathing look. “I thought I ordered you to take him upstairs?”</p><p>“I ordered them to leave him here for observation,” Crabbe replies dryly. He taps at Ozpin’s - Oscar’s, really – right wrist. “Try moving it for me?” he asks quietly.</p><p>Ozpin tries, he really does, but the muscles simply… don’t move. He shakes his head.</p><p>The doctor’s frown deepens.</p><p>“Ederne, put Arc in a holding cell, and then I want <em>everyone </em>out of this room.” James raises a hand – odd, Ozpin remembers it being flesh the last time he saw it – when Crabbe rises from the bed. “That includes you, Crabbe. I need to speak with Oscar about sensitive topics meant for my ears <em>only</em>.”</p><p>“Hang on,” Jaune cries when Operative Ederne crosses the room to seize him by the shoulder. He struggles against her hold even as she wraps his wrists in gravity bolas. “You can’t just separate us! We’re a <em>team</em>.” He looks to Crabbe, his panic clear on his face. “You said you’d keep us <em>together</em>! Please –”</p><p>Ederne yanks him up from the bed, silencing the young man’s cries. “Don’t make this harder on yourself, kid,” she says. She pulls him along with her past James and over to the door.</p><p>Jaune snarls and plants a solid kick against her shin. The operative drops her grip in surprise, and Jaune stumbles toward Ozpin. Wild desperation shines in his eyes as he says, “I’m coming back for you. I promise, Oscar, even if you can’t hear me. <em>I’m coming back for you</em>.”</p><p>Ozpin gapes. Feelings of love, trust, <em>family </em>well in his chest, and suddenly he’s saying, “I know.” <em>I know. I trust you. Thank you. </em>The words tumble end over end in his mind and he’s aware that they aren’t his – they <em>aren’t</em> – so what are they? Whose are they?</p><p>Jaune’s face bursts into a look of absolute wonder, and Ozpin’s heart stutters in his chest. How does he explain, how does he <em>say</em>, that his words weren’t really Oscar? That it’s still him, an impostor hiding in a young boy’s – <em>too small, too young for his burden </em>– skin.</p><p>A hand wraps around the huntsman’s chest. “Save the speech,” Operative Ederne orders. She yanks hard, and then she and Jaune are gone.</p><p>Crabbe steps toward James. There’s a distinct line of tension in his shoulders. His hands curl into a ball and shake with barely contained rage. “Jimmy,” the doctor says quietly, “what. Was. That?”</p><p>Ozpin can’t see the man’s face, but he’s certain that it is not a face he would enjoy.</p><p>James lifts an eyebrow.</p><p>“I don’t care if you’re king of the world, you don’t get to come in here and order me around like one of your underlings.” The doctor’s left hand comes up threateningly like he’s going to punch the general, but he drops the hand before he does something he might regret. “I put up with a lot,” he continues, voice quivering. “I didn’t say anything when you brought the entire goddamn <em>military </em>to Vale. I didn’t say a <em>word </em>when you when you asked me to <em>amputate your arm</em> yesterday rather than try and save it. I didn’t say <em>anything </em>when you brought me Clover <em>in a body bag</em>.”</p><p>His shoulders sag. “Jimmy, I’m out of my element here. Immortal witches, Maidens, magical wounds, <em>relics</em>.” He chuckles darkly. “I don’t understand any of it, and I want to trust you. I do. But, they’re <em>kids.</em>” He pauses as if searching for something in James’ face, but Ozpin knows he won’t find anything there. Hiding his thoughts has always been James’ specialty.</p><p>He used to believe it was one of the general’s best attributes. Now, he’s not sure.</p><p>“Basil,” James says, “please leave.” His face still hasn’t changed outside the eyebrow lowering. His voice contains no inflection, no hint of emotion. “I won’t ask again.”</p><p>Crabbe glances back at Ozpin one more time as if asking for permission.</p><p>Ozpin lets the gentle smile Qrow had once jokingly called the “Headmaster Smile” pull at the corners of his mouth and nods.</p><p>Crabbe sighs and turns on his heel. “Don’t hurt him,” he warns as he leaves the room.</p><p>Ozpin can’t help but wonder who, exactly, he was warning.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>*ahem* Well, that was a ride. I actually really like Ironwood as a character, but writing him is... hard. I don't do well with stoic characters when we're not actually in their heads *glares at Hazel, Ren, and Ironwood*, and this chapter just... oof. I like expression. I like plain emotions. I like characters like Neo who emote. Don't get me wrong, Ironwood emotes, but the situations I have him in right now are ones where he can't really do that as a character - which is part of the reason he wants everyone out, lol.</p><p>In other news, my friend group had a betting thing going where you were supposed to guess the scores for the superbowl at half-time and I won (literally the exact score)! Why is this a big deal? I know nothing about football (yes, I am from the land of Friday Night Lights and I have no idea what's going on in the sport), and the first scores I set were actually impossible to obtain (which makes NO SENSE). Put me in a cheerleading competition, on the sidelines of a volleyball match, or behind home plate at a baseball game, and I can tell you everything down to statistics. Football? What?</p><p>So basically, my friends, all football nerds, are very confused (in more ways than one - what was that halftime show?).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. OJ > JWRQ > Reason</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The one in which people do dumb things in the name of love.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to phoenixqueen for the beta! This wouldn't be nearly as good without her input.</p><p>Read, comment, kudo if you wish, and enjoy!!!</p><p>EDITS: some formatting errors :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James’ mask crumbles the moment they’re alone, and Ozpin is startled to see soft warmth and <em>relief</em> come over the general’s face. “It’s good to see you again, Oz,” he says, stepping closer to the foot of the bed so that he can place his hands on the white frame. Ozpin’s feels his muscles ache in protest as the back of the bed lifts him to a half-reclined position. “When Oscar told me you were gone, I feared –”</p><p>Ozpin’s eyes narrow. Images, glimmers of that same expression – <strong><em>I’m so glad you’re here</em></strong> – flicker in his mind. He shoves them away and says coldly, “I was never gone, James. Far away, perhaps, but never gone.”</p><p>The relief vanishes, and James recoils from the bed as if stung. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” His eyes harden; his mouth tightens into a nondescript line. “These past few months I – we could have used your help, your guidance.”</p><p><em>This isn’t James</em>, Ozpin realizes. For better or for worse, this is General Ironwood.</p><p>To the untrained eye both are the same, but to Ozpin, James is <em>James</em>. Friend. Confidant. The rock. Where Qrow slips through shadows and Glynda manages, James commiserates and challenges his ideas – he makes it so that Ozpin, <em>Oz</em>, isn’t shouting into an empty room.</p><p>General Ironwood is closed, careful. He makes decisions solely for what he sees as “the good” of Atlas. He relies too much on Mettle – and looking at the bags beneath his eyes, Ozpin is willing to bet that he’s been relying on his semblance quite a bit, lately.</p><p>In his anger, he miscalculated. He needs <em>James</em>, not a general.</p><p>“And you received it,” Ozpin replies, allowing his expression to soften. “Oscar was doing well, better than I could have.”</p><p>“But he wasn’t <em>you</em>, Oz,” James retorts hotly.</p><p><em>There’s </em>the fire he remembers. There’s the fire he <em>needs</em>.</p><p>So he pulls on it, draws it from dying embers with his only weapons. “Is that why you shot him?” Ozpin questions. <em>Now </em>he pours on the anger. “Because he wasn’t me? Because you didn’t <em>trust </em>my decision to let him speak for us?”</p><p>The general’s face darkens. “It was a calculated risk. You’d either awaken and save yourself,” he explains, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, “or you would move on to a different host.” His mouth curls ever so slightly into a wry smirk. “You’d find you way back to Atlas no matter the outcome.”</p><p><em>It doesn’t </em>work <em>that way, </em>the voices whisper angrily. He can feel <em>fire </em>crawling across his skin, the blade tearing through his stomach, teeth tearing at his arms and legs, the panic when his chest won’t rise – every terrible death over and over and <em>it doesn’t </em>work <em>that way.</em></p><p>He isn’t sure what causes it: if it’s the stress from the past few days, memories of fists and steel-tipped boots and blood-red walls that never seem to leave, or simply the fact that he and Oscar are trapped in this terrible situation, but that… <em>that </em>is when something in Ozpin <em>snaps</em>. “And you would intentionally harm a <em>child </em>for your goals?” he snarls. “Simply because you didn’t <em>agree with him</em>?” A dark chuckle erupts from his chest. “How does that make you any different from <em>her</em>?”</p><p>Ironwood’s hand comes down upon the frame. The sound of bending metal cuts through Ozpin’s fury, and then the general roars, “Atlas <em>needed </em>you! <em>I </em>needed you! I didn’t enjoy shooting you, but considering the results, I would do it again.”</p><p>Ozpin tries to shake his arms, to gesture to the bruises and bandages littering Oscar’s body, but all he manages is slight twitching. “<em>These </em>are favorable results?” he snaps.</p><p>James actually manages to look <em>slightly </em>guilty at that. “I’d hoped that I would find you before Salem managed to take you,” he admits.</p><p>“And then what would you have done?” Ozpin can feel himself shaking, and he has to take a breath before his anger overwhelms him again. “Did you think I would <em>cooperate</em>? Did you think I wouldn’t be <em>angry</em>?” He levels the man his best glare. “I know you are a man capable of many things, but I didn’t think murdering a child was one of them.”</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I will keep our people safe. You have to trust me.</em> </strong>
</p><p>The words ring hollow in his mind as he stares at the man he’s considered one of his few friends. <em>How far would you go, James? </em>a soft voice whispers. <em>What other evils would you do in my name?</em></p><p>They stare at each other in a battle of wills for what seems like forever – Ozpin’s protective fire versus James’ stubborn steel.</p><p>Eventually, fire wins out, and the general drops his eyes to the floor. He sighs. His tension ebbs from his body with the slow exhale. His hands disappear behind his back; his stance shifts into a loose parade rest.</p><p>Ozpin notes with little surprise that his bed now sports a rather unsightly dent in its frame. <em>How unfortunate</em>.</p><p>“Why did she take you?” James asks, the hard military edge slipping back into his voice.</p><p>Apprehension and more than a little wariness coils in Ozpin’s stomach at the change in subject. He wants to chase matter, to follow the rabbit down its hole, but he knows that in this state, James will reveal nothing. So… “She wanted the password to the lamp.” He’ll play along, for now. The corner of his mouth quirks into a small victorious smile. “She’s had a fair bit of trouble finding Choice.”</p><p>Blue eyes widen ever so slightly. “She didn’t –” James breathes worriedly.</p><p>“No,” Ozpin says. An uncomfortable fuzzy feeling tickles the back of his throat. He swallows in an attempt to keep it at bay. “Oscar kept the last question out of her hands. He managed to convince one of her underlings to use it instead.” His smile widens. “He was very impressive.” A series of dry, painful coughs erupt painfully from his chest before he can stop them. His eyes screw shut as his body curls in on itself. He feels something cool and hard – metal – gently press his shoulders back into the bed.</p><p>Ozpin doesn’t know how long it takes for the fit to pass, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s staring into James’ concerned eyes. The general carefully helps Ozpin position himself so that he is able to sit properly once more, and then the man is back at the foot of the bed, his back to Ozpin as he leans against the metal railing.</p><p>Ozpin smiles softly at the familiar sight. Much time may have passed since Beacon, but some habits never die. It is a small bit of comfort to see something so incredibly <em>James</em>.</p><p>“If the lamp is out of questions, then,” James trails off, his voice tight with concentration. He grows quiet and pushes himself off the bed to take a few steps forward. His heavy, slightly uneven footsteps ring in the silence. Then he stops, his head jerking upward as he finally settles on the implications of that information. “<em>You </em>are the only one who knows the location of the Beacon relic,” he says.</p><p>Ozpin nods. There is no need to deny the obvious. “Yes,” he confirms. He cocks his head curiously at the strange tension that pulls at the man’s shoulders. “What is it?”</p><p>James finally turns to him. Fierce determination and… <em>fear</em>, Ozpin notes with surprise, flare brightly in his eyes. “You <em>will </em>be protected, Oz,” he says fiercely, placing his hands on the metal frame. “She won’t take you again.”</p><p>Something in the way he says that… Ozpin’s stomach twists.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>This is what was necessary.</em> </strong>
</p><p>“James,” he begins softly, but the other man has already begun speaking.</p><p>“Once we’ve rebuilt Fria’s quarters, I’ll have you moved. I’ll start a guard rotation, only soldiers I trust, of course.” The general’s hand comes up to worry at his chin. “Pietro can add extra security, I’ll restrict access…” He sighs, the hand dropping back to the bedframe. “It isn’t perfect,” he concedes with a small frown, “but I promise that you will be comfortable and <em>safe</em>.”</p><p>Ozpin frowns deeply. Oscar doesn’t have any memories of meeting Fria, but <em>Ozpin</em> remembers the Maiden’s frailness. He remembers the way she’d called him <em>Ozzy</em> last they’d met – as if she were looking at someone <em>else</em>.  He can imagine what these “quarters” might be, and it seems as though he and Oscar would be trading one prison for another. “James, while I agree that the situation is not the best, keeping us prisoner will not solve any of our problems,” he protests. He cannot, <em>will not</em>, let this happen. If not for his own sake, then for Oscar’s.</p><p>“You wouldn’t be a prisoner, Oz,” James argues. “It would be for your own protection.”</p><p>“I hardly see the difference. A cage, no matter how comfortable and well-furnished, is still a cage in the end,” Ozpin retorts. He can feel the tickle rising in the back of his throat, but he shoves it down as far as he can. He needs control. He needs James to <em>see</em>. “Have you given any thought to Oscar? How this might affect <em>him</em>?” He lets his mouth curl into a snarl. “He’s a <em>child</em>, James. He needs freedom to <em>grow </em>and <em>develop</em> – confining him would be cruel.”</p><p>The general’s eyes narrow. “He’ll understand, in time, and once the merge is complete, he won’t have much of an opinion on the matter,” he says matter-of-factly. “At least he’ll live out his last days in peace.”</p><p>“I think you have a <em>gross</em> misunderstanding of how this works,” Ozpin says darkly. “Oscar –”</p><p>A tremor shakes the room. Ozpin’s bed <em>jerks</em>. The cough he’s been trying to hold back rips itself from his chest. Loud wailing rings in his ears, and he can hear James order Dr. Crabbe back into the room.</p><p>“<em>Cinder</em>,” he rasps between coughs. How could he have forgotten? “She’s here for Watts.” Another cough wracks his body, and something <em>shifts </em>painfully inside of him. Dark spots dance at the edges of his vision.</p><p>The last thing he remembers is James’ <em>fear</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The first time he’d come back from a mission into her lands, one he’d <em>begged </em>to take, he had stumbled into Ozpin’s office half dead, breathless, and terrified. He hadn’t known where to start his report. How was he supposed to explain the things, the living nightmares, he’d seen? The lifeless maroon and purple wastelands, the black pools that contained more Grimm than he could have imagined, the monstrosities creeping from their depths – white, bony armor gleaming in harsh red light. The creatures his tribe had spoken of with cautious whispers that roamed the wastes.</p><p>He’d collapsed, his shaking hands reaching for a long empty flask, as Ozpin rushed to catch him.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Take a breath.</em> </strong>
</p><p>He breathes.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Compartmentalize.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Qrow fiddles with the bloody pin in his hand.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Take it one piece at a time.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Yang and Ren: Missing. <em>Fuck.</em></p><p>
  <strong> <em>Begin simply.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Salem and her Grimm fortress: Blown to bits. <em>Better.</em></p><p>
  <strong> <em>Work your way through.</em> </strong>
</p><p>The lamp: Retrieved from Salem’s Grimm <em>whale </em>– how she managed that, he’ll never know. Status of its last question: Unknown.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I will hear about all of it eventually, so begin where you can.</em> </strong>
</p><p>Ozpin: Captured. Winter had mentioned that he was still unconscious, so who knows what’s going on in that head.</p><p><strong><em>She can’t take me again, Qrow. </em></strong>Nope. Not going there. <em>He’s not going there.</em></p><p>Jaune and Oscar: Recovering. Probably. Jimmy wouldn’t be so heartless as to let a kid suffer. But then again… His fingers clench around the pin as another bout of anger flares in his chest. Maybe he doesn’t know the general as well as he thinks.</p><p>Somewhere beyond his thoughts, he can hear Robyn peppering Winter with more questions. <em>What’s going on out there? Is Mantle protected?</em></p><p>He grits his teeth as his mind circles back around to item one. Ren and Yang. Missing. Presumed <em>dead</em>. His eyes narrow dangerously at the pin in his hands. No. Those two are <em>smart</em>, and he’s working on second-hand information. He needs to hear what happened from either Jaune or Oscar – preferably Jaune. He has to know –</p><p>Silence.</p><p>He glances up and looks around the prison warily. <em>Why the hell did everyone get quiet?</em></p><p>“You have to let me go back!” someone shouts. “<em>Please! </em>I have to be there when he wakes up!”</p><p>Qrow’s eyes snap to the entrance. He shoves the pin back into a pocket – which one, he doesn’t care so long as it’s <em>safe</em> – and keeps sets his face in a neutrally stony expression.</p><p>Elm steps into the room, Jaune pathetically struggling against her grip. She marches him past Watt’s cell, then Qrow’s, and the huntsman almost drops his stoic façade to hiss when he gets a proper look at the kid. He’s lost the armor, thick white bandages covering his torso in its place. There’s a bright red spot on his jaw that’ll bruise <em>beautifully</em>, and Qrow wonders if the kid had received a bit of Atlas hospitality on his way up here.</p><p>He watches in silence, not even twitching, as Elm pulls the bolas from the kid’s wrists and shoves him into a new cell that’s appeared beside Winter’s. “He <em>is </em>awake,” she replies. “We were both there.”</p><p>Qrow’s attention spikes. Now <em>that’s </em>interesting.</p><p>Jaune’s face scrunches defiantly. “That wasn’t him,” he protests. “You know that wasn’t him!”</p><p>Elm stops for a moment and stares at the kid. Her eyes soften, and then she says, “I don’t know much about this, but it sounds like he’ll be gone for a while. You should get used to the idea before you see him again.” The soft look vanishes as she turns to leave the room. “<em>If </em>you see him again,” she corrects quietly.</p><p>The threat hangs in the air with her departing footsteps.</p><p>Qrow turns his attention entirely to Jaune, a question, <em>the question</em>, on his tongue, but when he sees the kid slump to the floor like his strings have been cut…</p><p>He can’t. Not yet.</p><p>Quiet, broken sobs echo from the kid’s cell, and Qrow <em>knows</em>. A heavy stone settles in the pit of his stomach as he hunches where he sits. He sees Robin send him a questioning look, and he shrugs. He doesn’t know what to do, either, and, quite frankly, he doesn’t care.</p><p><em>Yes, you do</em>, his conscience, the one that suspiciously sounds like Oz, whispers. <em>Say something</em>.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” he says, and <em>oh</em> <em>Brothers</em> this isn’t something he’s never been good at, “I don’t know everything that happened out there, but it’s gonna be okay.” The pin in his pocket seems to gain weight with every word. It’s <em>not </em>going to be okay. He knows it, Robyn knows it, hell, even <em>Winter </em>gets it and she’s the <em>Ice Queen</em>.</p><p>Dark, baleful laughter rings from behind him, and Qrow turns to glare at Arthur Watts. “Oh, I’m sorry,” the man says, a sneer on his face, “but you are just <em>too funny</em>.” He stands and gestures to the vibrant blue walls that surround him. “There is no <em>okay</em>. We are all <em>here</em>, and it is unlikely that any of us will be free when this battle ends.” He jabs a finger at Jacques. “<em>He’s </em>a conspirator and hacked an election.” Robyn. “She’s a <em>revolutionary </em>and <em>vigilante</em>.” Winter. “A traitor.” Qrow. “And a murderer.” He looks distastefully at Jaune and adds, “I don’t know what <em>he </em>has done, but if he associates with you lot, I doubt he will be leaving this place any time soon.”</p><p>He returns to his bench and snorts. “Perhaps it is a good thing those two brats blew up. At least they aren’t <em>here</em>.”</p><p>Qrow is standing faster than he can blink, hot anger burning brightly in his chest. “One of those brats was my <em>niece</em>,” he snaps angrily. His feet carry him forward, and then he’s banging at the wall separating him from the smirking doctor. “So watch what you say or <em>pray </em>you’re right.”</p><p>“Qrow!” Robyn shouts behind him. “Stop, or you’ll hurt yourself!”</p><p>He begrudgingly backs away from the wall. His hand stings, but it’s not anything to write home about – he’s been hurt worse on missions for Oz. “If these walls come down,” he threatens lowly, “I’m coming for you <em>first</em>.”</p><p>Watts sneers. “I’m quaking in my boots, Branwen.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You are <em>nothing </em>but a drunk failure without Ozpin behind you.”</p><p>Qrow’s eyes narrow dangerously. His hands itch to add another shiner to the man so that his eyes match.</p><p>“She took him.”</p><p>He can hear his teeth grinding together.</p><p>“<em>Broke </em>him.”</p><p>His vision blurs.</p><p>“All while you sat in your cell and whined about your semblance.”</p><p><em>That’s </em>it. “Listen here you –”</p><p>“You’re wrong,” a voice, scratchy and raw, calls.</p><p>Qrow’s head cocks over his shoulder to get a good look at the speaker.</p><p>Jaune stands at the edge of his cell, his hands clenched and shaking at his sides. “He didn’t <em>break</em>,” the kid practically spits the final word. Red rims his eyes, but it seems that the grief, though fresh and painful, has taken a back seat to the kid’s protective streak. “Even when he was scared, when he was begging us to <em>leave him behind</em> and telling us he <em>wasn’t worth dying for</em>, he never broke.” His mouth twists into a slight grin. “Oscar never told her anything, and when he defeated her, he was smiling.”</p><p>The room quiets, and Qrow feels as though he’s caught in the doldrums. He and his boat float, stagnant on calm ocean waters, silently praying for a wind, any wind, to drive them forward. To carry him forward because <em>what</em> do you say to something like that? What do you say to a declaration so simple, so straightforward, but so powerful?</p><p>He casts a quick glance at Watts, who looks as though he’s swallowed something incredibly sour. He wants to say something, to taunt the doctor and hit him where it hurts, but Robyn coughs lightly behind him.</p><p>“I thought we were talking about Ozpin,” she murmurs softly, a nervous glint in her eyes. “And Ozpin can’t be here. He died at Beacon.”</p><p>Right. <em>Fuck. </em>That could be a problem.</p><p>“Ozpin can reincarnate,” Jaune replies sheepishly. He scratches at the back of his head. “It’s complicated, but he’s gone into Oscar. They’re, uh… merging souls.”</p><p>Robyn raises an eyebrow. “That’s possible?” she asks incredulously, looking to Qrow as if she’s waiting for the punchline.</p><p><em>Well… </em>He nods. “He’s been doing it for a long time,” he confirms. “For now, the two of them tend to switch who’s in the driver’s seat.” He looks over her shoulder at Jaune. “I’m guessing that whatever Oscar did on that whale made Oz wake up instead of Oscar.”</p><p>Jaune drops his gaze, and really, that’s all the answer Qrow needs.</p><p>The older huntsman sighs and rubs at his face with a hand. There’s so much here that he can’t – <em>won’t </em>– unpack. Unease and guilt tinged with <em>relief </em>gnaw at his stomach. He’s not ready to start processing his feelings about Oz. Not yet.</p><p>So, he finally asks the question that’s been on his mind since the kid got here. “Are Yang and Ren really dead?”</p><p>Jaune’s shoulders jerk. “I… I think so,” he says quietly. “They weren’t with us when we left Monstra.” His eyes finally leave the floor to look Qrow in the eye, and the grief shining in the kid’s eyes rips Qrow’s breath from his chest. “They were still inside when the bomb went off, trying to buy us time to escape.”</p><p>Qrow opens his mouth, the next question – <em>Why did she stay and not you?</em> – burning on the tip of his tongue.</p><p>A small beep cuts through the tension, and Qrow’s world bursts into a flare of searing heat and choking dust. He’s thrown backward; his back slams into the wall of his prison. His vision blurs as his chest struggles to draw in dust-filled breaths. He coughs painfully, his lungs trying to dislodge the tiny invaders in his system. The blue walls around his cell flicker once, twice, and then vanish completely.</p><p>A hazy figure strides toward them, no, <em>Watts</em>. He groans, wiping dust and grit from his eyes with two hands – which is a little weird because he’s pretty sure he’s only moving one of them. His eyes adjust just as the figure, a woman, <em>Cinder</em>, pulls her target from the floor.</p><p>“A little more warning would have been nice,” Watts remarks dryly.</p><p>She huffs. “You’re lucky I came for you at all.” She throws one of his arms over her shoulder and walks them toward the newly formed massive hole in the wall. “But you have something I need, doctor.”</p><p>“Halt!” another voice shouts. <em>Ice Queen</em>. “You’re under arrest, Cinder Fall!”</p><p><em>Ice Queen</em>, Qrow blearily thinks to himself, <em>you don’t even have a weapon.</em></p><p>Cinder’s head turns. She smirks.</p><p>“I dare you to <em>try</em>.”</p><p>The two lackies leap into the wind and vanish.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong> <em>“You do not have to do this. I must impress upon you the dangers of what you’re choosing.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>(<em>Oscar?</em>)</p><p>
  <em><strong>I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice.</strong> <strong><br/></strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Summer Rose sits across his desk, her silver eyes catching just enough of the late afternoon light to glimmer beautifully. She smiles a bright, gleaming smile, and Ozpin remembers a girl – a young girl from a long-ago lifetime – who smiled at him that very same way. “It doesn’t matter to me,” she says. “I can take a little more danger if it allows me to keep other people safe.” Her smile turns playful. “Besides,” she whispers conspiratorially, “Qrow and Raven are my teammates. I live with danger every day.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>(go away)</p><p>
  <strong>He takes a deep breath. His backpack sits innocently on his bed.</strong>
</p><p>(<em>Oscar – you – me?)</em></p><p><strong> <em>He chuckles softly at the girl’s antics. “Yes, I suppose you do.” He leans back in his chair and wraps his hands around the steaming mug of cocoa. “The Branwen twins are certainly a handful.” He lets the small smile fade from his face as he peers into her eyes. “I need to hear you say it, Miss Rose.”</em> </strong> <strong>  </strong></p><p>(<em>worry comfort care I’m here I’m not leaving</em> but you will and I don’t want you so leave)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>I won’t pretend that this is an easy choice, Oscar. But many of the best choices are the most difficult to make.</em> </strong>
</p><p>(<em>No.</em>)</p><p>
  <strong> <em>“I’m ready, Professor,” she says without hesitation. “Teach me how to use my eyes.”</em> </strong>
</p><p>(LEAVE)</p><p>Ozpin jerks into consciousness, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His skull throbs painfully, and he hisses when he tries to shake the cobwebs away. He’d been… not close, exactly, but certainly closer to Oscar than he’d been as of late.</p><p>“Ozpin?” James asks from somewhere far away. No, not far, just… apart, separate, a few feet ahead. Something. “Are you alright?”</p><p>His head <em>pounds</em>.</p><p>Ozpin forces his eyes open. He’s moving through somewhere new, or some place, a hallway, is moving around <em>him</em> because his feet aren’t moving. He looks down at his feet.</p><p>He’s not standing. He’s sitting in a wheelchair. Motorized, likely – he doesn’t feel someone pushing him, and the device is following at a perfect three paces behind James as if it is on a tether. His eyes travel upward and catch on purple cords securing his wrists to the armrests. “No, James,” he grouses, tugging experimentally at the bindings. “I’m not.” They don’t budge, and dread settles in Ozpin’s stomach.</p><p>He swallows the bile pooling in his throat and looks up into James Ironwood’s unreadable eyes.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So um... that new ep. It broke me y'all. There was much screaming. And laughing. And comparing lists.</p><p>I would like to say something, though. In the interests of being polite to non-First subscribers, I ask (no, beg) that you don't talk about it in the comments! If you want to talk to me/join me for funny theories and notes about the most recent episode, please please PLEASE do so on my tumblr!!!! I'm trying to keep RM as spoiler free as I possibly can!!!!</p><p>https://www.tumblr.com/blog/trashyinferno</p><p>Um... I think that's it for now. Thank you for reading!!!!!</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251431">Back From the Future</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixqueen/pseuds/phoenixqueen">phoenixqueen</a>
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